


Those Who Rule, Those Who Fight, Those who Serve

by Bellatores



Category: Glee
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dom/sub, Historical Fantasy, Multi, Punishment, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatores/pseuds/Bellatores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As mage-in-waiting, Prince Kurt has no choice but to take a royal consort, but as Lord Sebastian and his sub Blaine enter the capital, is there some fine print Sebastian has missed? For <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/41745.html?thread=57219601/">this</a> prompt at the GKM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

After one last thrust into the boy below him, Kurt slumps down, chest heaving, the heavy fog in his mind subsiding for one short but glorious moment. The bed’s other occupant tries valiantly to shift from where he is trapped and at last succeeding he grabs a towel from on top of one bejewelled coffers and wipes the quickly drying come off his torso. “Shall I send the next boy in, your highness? Jonathan, maybe? Nicolas?”

“Nicolas, yes” the crown prince murmurs vaguely, the fog settling in once again, brushing the edges of his vision with its red haze.

Starting to feel uncomfortable, Kurt makes the sheen of sweat disappear with a sated flick of his hand. Magic crackles underneath his skin, unpredictable as it is during his sickness.

As the next boy runs up the circular stone steps to feed his prince’s sickness, two councillors and a king sit in the barrel ceilinged council room.

“I don’t see that we have any choice m’lord” says the one in green robes.

“The boy is 19 now, his sicknesses are only going to get stronger” adds the man in burgundy.

The king sighs, reading through the parchment on the table one final time. “Can we wait a year at least? Twenty-two is still very young for commitment like that!”

The one in the red purses his lips. To him the answer is clear.

“Not when the mage in question is as powerful as the Crown Prince, look at how he came of age, one day he was but a child and within a year he had come into his sickness” urges the green robed man.

“I hardly need to…” Red interrupts, but is cut off by the King, sitting more upright in his high backed chair.

“You’re right” he says begrudgingly “let’s give this list a closer look.”

“I would, of course, back the candidate from my own province” Red robes says imperiously. His real name is Cendarion, of House Eaestlid and his companion is Jacklin of House Keston, but no-one has called his called them that for years. The citizens of Restfeld know them only as Red and Green, or tall and small, if they are feeling particularly unkind.

Green Jacklin smiles. It would be just like his oldest friend to advocate his own candidate; Eaestlidians are known for being notoriously proud. “I too would advise the candidate from Eaestlid, we have heard nothing but good reports about Adam of Westmorton, and he is known to get on with his Royal Highness”.

“Traditionally, yes” agrees the King, twitching a hand around the base of his goblet. “They chose Elizabeth for me because she was calm, and I was rash, any man is at that age, but I fear someone as placid as Adam of Westmorton would not be as suitable for a strong personality like Kurt”.

“You fear that Kurt would overpower him, your Majesty?”

The expression on King Burt’s face clearly communicates that is exactly what he has been thinking.

Green stutters. He isn't in the habit of suggesting things in council that haven’t been pre-discussed with his tall companion, but decides it might be for the best. It is nearly time for the evening meal, after all. “I heard though Maylin of Osterberry that Lucien of Smythe has a son that he is anxious to recommend”.

“Your majesty, forgive me for speaking my mind, but Lucien Symthe wouldn’t scratch his own arse if he didn't think it would be to his benefit, and frankly it beggars the question, what does Smythe want?”

“Apart from riches, power and a link to the elemental magic that gives power to this very nation?” comments Green flatly.

The king looks pensive. “But what of the boy?”

“No word of him, Nicolas Duval is from Cumara, he must have had dealings with the boy, since they are both from The Three Isles” replies Red.

“Can we have him fetched?” small Green wonders aloud.

The serving boy darts out of the door to inquire, and the room is blissfully silent for a moment.

“Please m’lord” he says in a small voice, Sir Nicolas is…indisposed at the moment”

“Indisposed?” laughs Red disbelievingly “what can be more important than the Kings council?!”

“He is…ummm…the prince, he’s” the boy’s face is rapidly turning puce.

Green decides to spare the boy any more torment. “He’s…seeing to the prince, is that it boy?”

“Yes, my lord” the boy warbles.

“Fetch him, George, please?” Burt sighs.

While the boy is gone they review the other candidates, including Hugh of Averney who Kurt had nearly stabbed in the hand with a fork after ‘missing’ his pie at his sixth birthday party for refusing to dress up with him. Elizabeth had had to carry a still kicking Kurt to a side chamber that afternoon, the first time Burt had realised the full implications of Kurt inheriting Burt’s own stubbornness.

The boy stumbles back in, with Nicolas following behind, tunic and breeches obviously thrown on without a care and hair ruffled from….Burt tries not to think about what from.

“Nicolas” says Red suspiciously kindly, “I'm sorry to take you from your…duties, but we need to know everything about Lucien of Estaria’s son, it is of high import that you tell us everything you know, and spare no detail”

“About Sebastian, Lord Cendarion?”

“What other son of Smythe am I talking about?” Tall Red snaps indignantly.

Nick wrings his hands “Sebastian is one of six, m’lord”

“Tell us about Sebastian, Nick” King Burt encourages softly.

“He’s very intelligent, both in logic and the classical subjects, literature, languages, history, but also a strong and reputable fighter in most accepted martial forms, with a good head for diplomacy and figures” reels off Nick, as if this a description that hasn't been heard about most young men of a certain class.

“And the flaws of this apparent genius?” asks Red.

Nick pauses. “He is, how should I say, headstrong? Wilful? I would say arrogant milords, but he was tutored by the best minds in the Three Isles, so I daresay some arrogance is deserved”

“But will he make a good consort?” Small asks all emphasis on the word ‘will’.

King Burt turns in his chair slightly, to face Nick squarely.

“For his Royal Highness?”

Red’s eyes threaten to bulge from his pallid face “Yes, for the Prince, what other Princes do we have here in Restfeld?! Does copulating drain all your wits?”

“I beg your pardons, milords” Nick flushes “He is an ideal candidate, but…”

Burt smiles knowingly “But you doubt their compatibility?”

Nick nods.

“Well, I think I've heard all I need to know for today” King Burt gets up from his chair, “I want all the information on all candidates discussed earlier, the good and the bad, for the Prince’s council on Friday”. The King and Green sweep out the room, in search of Lord Kipling’s raspberry tarts and a flagon of ale with which they can forget the trials of the day. Red gets up from his chair at last and proceeds to cuff Nicolas around the head on the way to the door, murmuring insults under his breath.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Alice for the beta and the cheerleading.

Kurt hasn't had a moment to himself since the announcement was made; he’s been rushed off his feet with wedding preparations for himself and two men he’s never met, on top of the refurbishment of another set of vacant royal apartments for them to live in when they are wed. The amount of servants they have managed to commandeer is as many as a small army, and nearly all of the guest rooms are being aired and cleaned, the last time of use being his mother’s funeral, and most have been allowed to gather dust.

Kurt’s new apartments are as far away from his childhood rooms as it is possible to be, not facing the mountains and the stone spires of the capital, but facing the sea, and the different spires of masts of the trading ships. The bedroom opens out onto this perfect view, and there is an apprentice painting a web of gold vines and leaves on a green background in what is to be their sitting room when Kurt goes to check up on the progress. Leaving the sitting room Kurt goes to inspect a room that will belong not to him, but to the man he is set to marry in little under a two weeks’ time. The room is a long rectangle, the walls covered in tapestries that Kurt has commissioned himself, it is all neat and perfect and Kurt runs an errant hand over the heavy embroidered coverlet on the bed.

Kurt always knew he’d have an arranged marriage, he’d filled his harem with the sons of Resfeld’s (and beyond) elite, as was customary, despite the fact he’d spent the ages of fourteen to seventeen protesting it, and he’d had to give in the first time he’d had his sickness. Now he was to be married he was to lose them, lose the only friends he’d ever really been allowed to make, in favour of a lifetime with two men he’s never met. He surveys the sea and can see only the little trading ships that import food from further up the coast, the long galleys of the navy with their green and black pennants fluttering on a breeze Kurt knows is entirely magical.

“We thought we’d find you here” says a voice behind him, and he whips around to see Nick lounging against the door jamb, arms crossed in front of him. “You wouldn't happen to be watching for a certain boat are you? You know seeing your betrothed before the wedding is against the rules”.

“And you could do anything about it if I was?” Kurt rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I haven’t seen him yet, I still have plenty of time to choose Adam of Westmorton” Kurt tries to keep a straight face, but after a minute both he and Nick dissolve into what can only be described as giggles.

“Your father is going to send someone to come look for you soon if he can’t find you in your chambers” 

“I've told Lauren to inform him I've gone to pick herbs for my newest potion, it’s a full moon tonight, so I doubt he’ll disbelieve her, and if he does he’ll come look for me himself” says Kurt assuredly. “Do the others plan on coming in or are they just going to skulk out there?”

The other Warblers file in, and it quickly becomes a jostle for the best place by the window.

“Is he here yet?” asks Jeff, craning his head to see from beyond Thad, who is stood in front of him.

Thad rolls his eyes at him. “Are you going to say that every few seconds until he shows up?”

Jeff grumbles something under his breath, and Kurt sees Nick pat his hand placatingly. Kurt hopes Nick won’t take too long after the harem is disbanded to ask Jeff to bond with him

The cry of ‘ship!’ startles Kurt back to himself, and he looks up to see the largest galley he has ever seen pass the headland, tens of dock workers flocking to the quayside to help unload and moor the ship, the rest of the workers on their noon break forming a small crowd to watch the enormous ship come in.

The ship unloads what Kurt knows is a rich cargo, he doesn't doubt that Red and Green have demanded every type of luxury imaginable, which is only confirmed when Kurt sees large amphorae of Estarian wine and pots of spices and bolts of fabric.

“What are they wearing?” the sound of giggles accompanies David’s question.

“It’s hot on the islands, they’re not going to be wearing long tunics if they’re used to being in the sun all day” Nick explains, the three men leading horses down the gangplank are wearing tunics in a light blue that are cut some way above the knee and as they get closer Kurt realises that the fabric is just slightly see-through.

Thad turns to Nick “How can we tell which one is Lord Smythe?”

“He’s the one in the cloak obviously” Jeff says, pointing to a man standing a little way away from the gangplank, in a blue cloak with the hood hanging over his face. It’s good fortune to wear sea colours on a hard voyage.

“They’re all wearing cloaks you idiot!” Thad bickers.

“The one by the gangplank is the right height and build” says Nick knowledgeably.

Maybe-Sebastian is quickly joined by other men in varying colours of blues and greens, and the captain of his father’s Kings Guard in his forest green cloak, armour glinting in a rare sighting of the sun from behind the clouds. He leads them from the dock to the first set of castle walls, through the gate and onto the sloping cobbled street. The men all keep their hoods up, but from their position by the window he can see the faces of the three men at the front of the party, two older and one younger.

“That’s Hunter Clarington” says Nick excitedly; “He must be acting as envoy” he points to the brown haired boy.

A woman in the next apartment hangs a rug from the window ledge and starts to beat it, the sound making the party passing through the street below look up. In doing so the hood of one of the men falls back. Nick is tucked next to Kurt, ignoring the chatter of the others and he leans in close to ensure that they are not overheard.

“That’s Blaine, Kurt” he almost whispers.

“That’s him? Are you sure?” Nick nods and Kurt’s is suddenly aware of his heart beating in his chest, contemplating using magic to magnify his vision, so he can see him up close rather than just the mop of dark hair and blurry features. He knows better than to use his magic for himself and it isn't like he has that much longer to wait to meet his intendeds, now that they are here in the capital. That makes something in his gut twist, his stomach feeling vaguely unsettled.

“We've been spotted!” he hears someone trill and the excitement of the voices around him seems so out of place with his nerves.

Kurt snaps back to reality almost as quick as he left it, seeing that although the first three men are still deep in conversation with the captain of the guard, Blaine (he certainly hasn't been saying the name out loud recently, to test it on his tongue, not once) is looking up at Kurt and his companions crowded around the window. Their eyes meet, just momentarily, before the boy’s eyes dart down and then across to one of the other hooded figures, whose head darts up but Kurt has to look away because the door of the chamber has been flung open, wood banging against stone.

Green is slightly out of breath, probably from the numerous flights of stairs, Kurt notes, and it doesn't even take a moment for him to realise what’s going on. Kurt has spent his whole life being reprimanded by Green, he hadn’t been the easiest child to tutor, but Kurt still stops when Green gives him a look that clearly communicates that he is not supposed to be here.

“Is it too much to ask that you don’t mention this to my father?” Kurt feels like he’s fourteen again and Green has found him listening to the gossip of the ladies instead of at his lessons.

“If you stay in your apartments until the welcome ceremony is over. And by you I mean all of you” Green bargains, turning his practiced tutors’ glare on the others. “Well?” they turn away from the window and head for the door, but Green stops Kurt with a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He knows the gesture is supposed to be comforting, but it doesn't help Kurt’s broiling stomach.

Green looks at him down his squat nose “I would stay well away of the welcome feast tonight, Your Highness, I wouldn't want any other wedding traditions broken”. The message is clear; he wouldn't be surprised if Green himself comes to check up on Kurt, his movement within the castle has already been restricted, as it will be for the whole two weeks until the wedding. For that reason he wishes the two weeks were over already, but with one last look out of the window (he can only see tops of masts and walls from here now) he wishes it wouldn't come at all.

Sebastian wakes up three times during his first night in Restfeld. He is disorientated the first time he wakes, not only from the cloyingly sweet wine he had drunk during dinner but also from his surroundings, unaccustomed as he is to sleeping in a room with a ceiling. It’s unusual, staring up at the canopy above the bed instead of looking at the stars out on the sleeping veranda encompassed on three sides by white columns, beds sunk into the floor rather than at such a height. Feeling that he might be seeing the contents of his stomach for the second time tonight he staggers up from the bed and totters unceremoniously to the table where there is a pitcher and two cups. He drinks his fill from the pitcher, crawls back into the bed, under sheets he is not used to needing and manages to fall back asleep.

The second time Sebastian wakes it is to Blaine, shivering slightly and fidgeting, obviously trying to get comfortable although he appears to still be fast asleep. Sebastian steadies him on the side Blaine usually sleeps on (the right) and pulls up the top green coverlet to Blaine’s chin and tucks it haphazardly around his chin. Blaine hadn't taken the sea voyage well and when they arrived in the first Resfeldian port along the Eastern Coast and the mage had enchanted the ship it had increased speed significantly, worsening Blaine’s sea sickness, rendering his skin a permanent sickly colour which made Sebastian anxious. Blaine’s shivering stops, and he’s trying to wriggle free from where Sebastian is holding him still, jostling the sheet in the process. Sebastian settles around Blaine so that his back meets Sebastian’s chest, which doesn't settle Blaine like it usually does, but Sebastian figures that it’s not a usual night, so he reaches under the blanket for Blaine’s left wrist and gripping it tightly, places it against Blaine’s chest. The tight grip on his wrist has an almost immediate effect, Blaine snuffles once, stops wriggling and the next thing either of them hears is an insistent rapping on the door, the voices of people outside.

“It’s time to get up m’lords” says the quavering voice of a boy whose voice is not yet broken. Pulling open the heavy door he sees the boy with a steaming pitcher of hot water and a bowl, a towel over one arm. He lets the boy (Daniel, he finds out later) into the room and washes up, getting Blaine out of bed and washing his face until he is awake enough to hold the flannel up to his face himself, inspecting Blaine’s wrist from where he’s being holding it all night and pressing a kiss there, before they both get dressed. Daniel returns a little while later with two bowls of a white sludgy mixture, surrounded by smaller bowls of fruits and a pot of what appears to be chocolate. “You put the fruit in the porridge, m’lords” says Daniel when Sebastian and Blaine have stared at the food for a full minute without doing anything.Towards the end of their meal, when Daniel is collecting their trays, they are interrupted by Hunter, who is accompanied by a tall man in red robes, wearing a pin of the Restfelidian colours on his chest. Hunter introduces him as one of the high councillors, who act as consort since the death of King Burt’s Queen over ten years ago.

“We were wondering if you wanted to carry out the handing over ceremony in private, as is customary, or if you were comfortable in doing it in front of the court? Only a small number of advisers and courtiers, mind you, we know how upsetting an event like this can be, even though it is only temporary” says the pinched face man, obviously trying for soothing and failing.

“What ceremony?” Sebastian asks.

“The handing over ceremony, of your submissive to His Royal Highness for the two weeks before you get married…surely this was explained to you your Lordship, when you took the offer for marriage?” The man in the red robes starts off sure and trails off when he sees Sebastian’s look of utter bewilderment.

“It wasn't, no” says Sebastian tersely. Blaine, at least in Sebastian’s mind, is going nowhere.

The high councillor takes out a quill from within his folded robes, manages to find parchment and scribbles a message, then folds the corners of the paper in to form a little square before he makes a complex gesture with his hand and sends the paper flying out of the room with an audible whooshing sound.

Sebastian has only ever heard about magic, it is ability only Restfelders have ever had and seeing it, seeing the paper go skidding out of the open door and out of sight is one he will take great delight in describing when he finally has time to write to the horde of small Smythe children he has left at home.

Red Robes sighs, taking a seat at the table. “I think we should sit down and discuss this Lord Smythe, I am not sure how we can proceed if you and your submissive were completely unaware of this part of the ceremony”

Out of the corner of his eye Sebastian sees Blaine open his mouth and close it, making nervous eye contact with his Dom.

“Speak freely Blaine, you’re not in trouble”

“I knew about this Sir, your mother wanted to make sure I knew what was going to happen; that I consented to the match too, she…” Blaine trails off, but Sebastian squeezes his shoulder. He needs to hear this. “Your mother believed the decision was going above my head, sir, she wanted to know I consented”

“What about my consent? Or did that not matter?!” Sebastian was letting anger get the better of him, he knew but he just couldn't stop himself.

Red cloak sputters “Are you saying you did not consent to the match, Lord Smythe?”

“I’m saying that my father put the paper under my nose and told me to sign it and he didn't say anything about His Royal Highness getting any claim to Blaine whatsoever” says Sebastian, enunciating every word in an effort to quell his anger.

Hunter looks between Sebastian and the High Councillor “I assure you Councillor that I had no idea that Lord Smythe wasn't in possession of all the facts, Sebastian’s father only told….” Hunter pauses; he rakes a hand over his face. “He told me to make sure everything ran smoothly, whatever happened”

It’s then that another paper square zooms through the door, straight into the waiting palm of the man in the red robes. He unfolds it and his eyes scan the words, green ink on the page. The King’s green ink.

“I think its best that we discuss this formally” says Red Robes amicably “then if Lord Smythe doesn't consent, with full knowledge of the facts, we can release you from the contract and you will be free to do whatever you wish”

“That sounds very amenable your Lordship” says Hunter, inviting Sebastian to sit down opposite the councillor, Blaine sitting on the floor beside him, Sebastian’s hand in his hair. The familiarity helps push down the bile in his throat but he is sure he is shaking slightly. Breathe in Sebastian he thinks to himself, just like you would tell Blaine, Breathe in.

The councillor catches yet another zooming piece of parchment, bigger this time, with the green shield of Restfeld at the top and the blue and purple of Smythe at the bottom. He clears his throat to read,

“The Kingdom of Restfeld hereby declares the intent of His Royal Highness Kurt, the Crown Prince of Restfeld to be bound for life to Sebastian Etienne Smythe of Estaria and that the acknowledged bond between Lord Smythe and Blaine Anderson shall henceforth be shared between His Royal Highness (hereafter named the dominant) and Lord Smythe. All three parties do solemnly swear to carry out their responsibilities to the kingdom, to govern the sacred magic of the Kingdom in accordance with Magelaw, to rule the People and maintain peace and prosperity, and to hear the voices of the People, to nurture, support and serve to the best of their abilities. The Dominant hereby acknowledges his duty to his submissives, to provide support and instruction, to keep his submissives safe and healthy….”

“I don’t understand, it says submissives” says Sebastian slowly, stressing the plural.

Red Robes looks down his nose at him from across the table “Yes, it does….I gather by your expression that this is also news to you?”

There is stunned silence from the Estarian delegation for a long moment. “Of course it is! He’s from a line of 10 dominants! I…” Hunter is cut off by Sebastian putting a warning hand on his arm, no matter how much he appreciates his childhood friend sticking up for him.

“This wouldn’t change your dominant status my lord, the only person who would require your submission would be the Prince, if it’s your legacy you are worried about” says the Lord Councillor steadily, not knowing how Sebastian will react.

“Is there any way my father wouldn't have known about this?”

“Absolutely none my lord, I am not of course implying that he deceived you on purpose…” Red looks uneasy.

“Well that’s exactly what I'm implying” Sebastian says angrily, his mind working overtime to try and process what he’s hearing. Sebastian looks at Red Robes, trying his hardest to maintain the confident air he’d possessed but half an hour ago “I’d like a little time to discuss this matter” he says diplomatically, “I will then inform you of my decision”.

“Very well my lord” says Red Robes “I'm afraid I can’t give you very long, you understand this process is a highly traditional one, of course” he bows out of the room quickly, surely to report more fully to the king.

“Well this is a pretty mess” Hunter laughs, slumping down a little in his chair. Sebastian pretends not to see Blaine give him a look that clearly communicates that he doesn't find the situation funny at all.

“It’s certainly a cunning piece of planning on father’s part” mutters Sebastian bitterly. He gets up from his chair and walks over to one of the weaved coffers and kicks it without thinking, sending it sliding across the floor. “He knows I can’t refuse now, my entire reputation relies upon this treaty”.

“I know you may not want to hear this” Hunter says softly “but even if the King let you leave in good faith, which he would, it would still impact you for the rest of your life, being seen to snub the royal family could cost you your reputation, your allies, a commission in the army…”

Sebastian sighs from where he is slumped against one of the bedposts “I get it, Hunter. I doubt I could go home after this anyway”

“Your father would make it difficult, yes, it would cause a scandal if you were still to inherit, his councillors would fear being cut off from Restfeld’s military protection and the money from exports of ships and cloth”

“I don’t owe him anything” Sebastian says from gritted teeth, he knows sons are pawns to their fathers, he’s never shied away from that fact and he’s never pretended otherwise, but he still privately likes to think that he wasn't so easily exchanged, that this decision is still niggling away at his father despite being half a world away.

“You don’t my lord, but I would certainly think of it as a compliment, that he thinks you would put your country and in some respects your personal happiness over your own interests” says Hunter, making Sebastian smile, Hunter is eternally optimistic, where it is usually Sebastian whose glass is half empty.

“He would probably say it was weakness”

“Then that is his mistake and not yours.” Hunter replies calmly.

Sebastian goes back to his chair, seeing Blaine kneeling beside it and immediately sinks a hand into Blaine’s hair which grew long during the voyage. “I think you better tell the high councillor that I have made my decision, and that the ceremonies can continue at their convenience” Sebastian tells Hunter with more than a little bit of reluctance. He leaves the room with one last concerned look at the other men, as if he knows that Sebastian in only trying to get rid of him.

As soon as Hunter is gone Sebastian drags Blaine up from the floor and into his lap, tucking Blaine’s head under his chin. “You've been awfully quiet this morning”

Blaine burrows in closer “It isn't my decision sir”

“Of course it is Blaine; we’re only going to get married once”

Blaine chuckles; “That’s what I thought when we were bonded”.

“I would have liked to think I was enough for you” Sebastian sighs “Only three people in the realm get married, I never would have thought it would be us” he hugs Blaine closer, he’s always been told he’s not good at sharing, but the feeling that he is having something taken from him is stronger than ever.

Perceptive as always, Blaine turns his head to look up at his dom from where he is settled under his chin. “Seb, I made you promises and I'm going to keep them” Blaine says with all the confidence of someone who values loyalty, his steadfastness the best trait of his submission. “I'm still going to be yours you know, but now you’re going to belong to someone too, that’s all”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow for a moment, he is trying very hard not to think about that particular clause in the marriage contract, giving Blaine away that evening is going to be hard enough, even only for a two weeks, but thinking of submitting to someone else feel like taking away an even more vital part of himself.

Blaine pauses for a moment, as if unsure whether to go on. “It’s going to be difficult at first” Blaine says, always the first to reassure, “but the feeling of being completely owned, completely loved” the sub twists in Sebastian’s lap, straddling his waist on the hard backed chair.

“But I love being yours, you make me feel so…” Blaine twists the thin band on his wrist subconsciously. Sebastian tracks the movement, brings Blaine’s right wrist up to his mouth and kisses the warm leather, then the bare skin beneath it, hearing Blaine breath just that little bit heavier.

“What else do you love?” Sebastian asks, he feels buoyed up at Blaine’s words, that Blaine was proud of being his; that he had managed to do one thing right in his life.

“I l-love” Blaine stutters,

“What, B? Use your words” teases Sebastian, grinding slightly upwards and smirking when it has exactly the desired effect.

“I love it when you kiss me” Blaine is staring at him in that way that makes his stomach swoop, and before his brain has caught up he is reaching up to kiss his sub with a hand playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Blaine is the first to pull back, lets his posture slump and his head rest against Sebastian’s cheek.

Sebastian smiles indulgently. “What do you want Blaine? Shall I guess? Tell me if I’m right” he lowers his mouth to Blaine’s exposed neck and sucks, gently at first, redoubling his efforts at Blaine’s whispered “Yes”.

Blaine’s skin has taken on the red hue of someone who is going to have an impressive bruise. Sebastian surges up once more, and their cocks brush through three layers of fabric (Sebastian had foregone underwear this morning) and Blaine keens, a high familiar sound.

“Can you hear that?”

Sebastian stops trying to elicit another gasp from his sub and listens. There are footsteps from the corridor, the sound of shoes meeting wood, getting louder and louder as the person gets closer.

Blaine gets up from Sebastian’s lap as the footsteps get louder still, collapsing unceremoniously into the other chair.

Here are three knocks at the door and the voice of the young man who had served them at breakfast.

The doorknob jangles dully, before the door swings open. The boy from earlier pops his head round the door and seeing the older lords he steps into the room and bows perfunctorily.

“Milords, I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you, His Majesty the King is sorry to press the matter, and he thanks your grace for sending your envoy s promptly, but the period of exchange between his Royal Highness and your submissive must be exactly a two weeks, and delaying would mean changing the day of the ceremony, he asks if it is convenient for your lordships if the ceremony were to take place at the evening bell”

“That will be fine” he says looking at Blaine, expecting to see nerves and instead seeing a blank expression.

The boy nods, taking paper out of the linen bag attached to his belt. “The grand councillor says that if you need to communicate on any finer points of the agreement you can feel free to write them on the parchment, he says the paper will know what to do”

Sebastian thanks the boy, putting the magic parchment on the table, holding it as though it will scold him.

Once the boy is gone Sebastian exhales heavily, turning to Blaine in the other chair.

“Are you sure you’re alright, I could call the boy back?” Sebastian asks slowly

“I’m fine” Blaine smiles a little tightly for Sebastian’s liking, “Where were we?”

Sebastian’s worries are forgotten when Blaine gets up from his chair learning in to kiss him, only the merest hint of pressure, allowing Sebastian to press deeper, to claim what he is about to lose.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three extra information posts for this 'verse [here](http://signalstoradar.tumblr.com/tagged/magic-maps-and-marriage/).

The captain of the guard sent to collect them is late. So late, in fact, that the bells of the sept are already chiming when there is a knock at the door, the captain from the dockside waiting nervously.

“Are you ready m’lords?” he asks cheerfully.

“Yes, we’re ready” says Sebastian confidently, though his stomach is turning, looking at Blaine who looks as nervous as he feels. “It is a long way to the sept?”

“Not far my lord, the ceremony will be held in the Old Sept on Strenton Street, however it will be crowded, the city folk go to the main sept of the Mother for the service so you’ll have to stay close, since you can’t turn invisible like the Prince”

Sebastian is momentarily stunned. “The Prince can turn himself invisible?!”

The guard replies eagerly “Yes milord, I seen it meself once or twice” the captain looks very pleased to be able to relay this knowledge, but stops when he sees the looks on his two guests’ faces. “I wouldn't be worried, I’d never seen magic before I come here, but the mages are goodly folk and the Prince is the best among them”.

“I’m not worried” says Sebastian quickly, “and although I value you guiding us I am more than capable of defending myself and my Submissive” his hand flexes on his sword hilt.

The captain of the guard secretly thinks the sword is far too jewel encrusted to do much damage, the detail in the hilt is truly remarkable, silver patterns so intricate it looks like it has been woven, but it looks more like a trophy piece than a deadly weapon of war.

“Of course my lords, my pardons” he says placatingly. “Shall we be on our way then?”

They follow the guard down into the night, light blazing from torches mounted on either side of the moat. The guard is walking fast, and both of the newcomers find it hard to take in the sights and sounds of their new city. Crowds throng out from shops and homes on the main road from the castle, headed towards the Grand Sept on the outskirts, in the newer part of the capital. Men women and children wear strange clothes and eat strange things, a heady whirl of colours and smells. The crowds, thankfully, are all heading in the same direction, which means they taper away as soon as they turn down a side street, the sounds of bustle more like an echo. “Just this way milords” says the guard helpfully, pointing to a small Domed building standing in the centre of a cobbled square. It is one large circular structure, with columns of stone set at regular intervals, vaguely reminiscent of buildings back on the islands, with a very high grey domed roof, a little square entryway jutting out like a clay pot that has a very badly added handle. There is no door to the little antechamber, only an archway, covered in green vines which wriggled obstinately into every crevice of the crumbling antechamber. Sebastian can see into the main room, lit by standing candelabras. From the door, he can see a marble floor in swirling colours, a magnificently painted ceiling of the seven conquerors and right in the centre, next to an aging Septon, a tall figure in a forest green cloak. The figures are standing by a marble statue, slightly greying from age, of the mother, dressed in her ceremonial dress standing tall, her left hand on the shoulder of the father, kneeling on one knee with his head bowed demurely, his hand on the hilt of a slightly drawn sword.

“Ahh, here at last” says the Septon, turning round to face them. “Thank you for your help Master Eastwell”

The guard touches his helmet once and is gone.

Sebastian breathes deeply once, twice, then puts his foot from the rough-hewn stone of the antechamber onto the marble, making his way into the centre of the room, the wooden soles of his shoes audibly clicking against the fine floor. He doesn't even have to turn round to know that Blaine is following.

*************

The boy that Kurt can see is perhaps a little taller than him, taking confident steps to where he and the Septon are standing, in front of the sacred statue of the Mother. As he comes into the light of the room he can see brown hair, kept short, swept up at the front. He stops, a little further away from the Septon than is strictly necessary, as if Kurt and the Septon are carrying something infectious. His posture is sure, his eyes slightly narrowed. Kurt has been so busy taking in Lord Smythe, Sebastian (they are getting married in a fortnight after all) that he’s hardly paid any mind to the person standing (or hiding) behind him.

Sebastian turns his head to look at Blaine, giving him a look that clearly says ‘behave’ and Blaine steps out from behind him to stand at Sebastian’s side. The first thing that strikes Kurt about Blaine is his hair, a riotous tumble of dark curls that make him look far younger than Kurt is willing to contemplate.

“Let us gather together now” says the Septon feebly, making a waving gesture with the hand not resting on his cane. For the first time, Kurt makes direct eye contact with Blaine, smiling gently, maintaining it while Blaine steps closer. If he hadn't been looking so intently at Blaine he would have noticed Sebastian glaring at him, but he doesn't, and at last, when Kurt an Blaine are stood facing each other, Sebastian is forced to come closer.

“I think we should start” says the Septon cheerfully. “Have you said your goodbyes to Sebastian, Blaine?”

Blaine looks blankly at the Septon. He and Sebastian have never been outwardly affectionate, Blaine has always appeared diligent to any onlookers, who assume Sebastian is much like his father, distant and firm but dutiful. They don’t hug, such an action would appear ridiculous, but Sebastian takes Blaine’s hand and raises his wrist with its leather band to his lips, like he’s been doing since they were first bonded.

Sebastian steps back face impassive, eyes fleeting to Kurt for just one second before coming to rest on his feet.

The Septon nods at Blaine who kneels in front of Kurt with his back to Sebastian. Blaine tries not to be nervous, he has practiced the responses with Sebastian’s mother, even though it’s only a temporary claiming, the proper claiming ceremony will be before the wedding.

Kurt thinks what a perfect image Blaine makes, like he’d imagined since he’d been a boy, but simultaneously not, Blaine isn’t some faceless boy in a dream, but a real person. Kurt would be lying if he said this didn't scare him.

“Do you have the bonding token, your Highness?” says the Septon.

Kurt nods, a little nervously, returning his gaze to Blaine.

“Do you, Blaine, and you, Kurt, acknowledge your solemn intention and consent to enter into a lifelong bond?”

They both reply with the obligatory ‘I do’, Blaine glad that he knows exactly how this will go.

Kurt takes out the temporary, thinner band of brown leather (the same colour as his cuff) and goes to place it around his neck.

At Blaine’s confused look the Septon smiles at him “It is traditional here for bonding tokens to be worn around the neck and not the wrist.” he says kindly, as Kurt fixes the collar around his neck. Kurt’s expression is momentarily angry but Blaine looks at him with such confusion that he forces himself to smile despite the massive red bruise on his new Submissive’s neck.

Blaine stays still for a moment, trying to gauge how the band feels, its light but he can feel it, just an ever present reminder as his cuff, even if it less tight. Kurt holds his hand out so Blaine can stand up.

The Septon moves aside for the last part of the ceremony, Blaine steps forward, touches the foot of the statue of the Father, then places his fingertips on his forehead whilst Kurt does the same with the foot of the mother, signalling his intent to take their claim seriously, whilst the Septon smiles a job well done.

“I look forward to your bonding ceremony, gentlemen. I'm sure I don’t have to tell you to be good to each other?” says the Septon. Kurt wants to roll his eyes as the sentiment, obviously something the Septon says to all the young couples that enter into temporary bonds, usually much younger than Kurt and Blaine are. “Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers Lord Smythe?” continues the Septon.

Kurt jumps in quickly, “No need Remalgus, I’d be happy to take Lord Smythe back to the East Wing”.

“Forgive me for asking Your Highness, but is that wise?”

Kurt chuckles, “There will be crowds all the way, and there are guards at every turn within the castle, I think you can trust us not to get up to any mischief.”

The Septon nods, before taking hobbling steps towards the exit and the crowds outside.

Kurt turns to Blaine “Hands out” he says cheerfully, smiling widely when Blaine obeys. “This is an unremarkability spell, it won’t harm you and it doesn't hurt, promise.”

Kurt makes quick movements with his hand, red haze seeping as if from nowhere but disappearing just as quickly and Blaine feels just the slightest bit tingly, not in an unpleasant way, but as if he can sense an invisible and untouchable force-field.

“Thank you,” Blaine whispers redundantly, turning his palms over to inspect them. “It’s red.”

Kurt smiles, “All magic is red, but it is only visible to the user and those it is being done to.”

Blaine is somewhat fascinated by this information, and he smiles back at his new Dom with a look of wonderment usually only found on the faces of the small children who watch the apprentice mages performing tricks on street corners.

Sebastian is still looking at the floor when Kurt goes over to him, asking for his hand the same way he had with Blaine.

“I don’t want it” he says curtly, withdrawing his hand from Kurt’s grip and schooling his mouth into a tight line.

“That’s your choice” Kurt retorts, “but you’re going to look very weird talking to no-one”

Sebastian wants to retort that talking to Kurt is the last thing he plans to do, but Blaine is giving him this look of exasperation over Kurt’s shoulder and he has to bite his tongue to stop him saying it.

Sebastian places his hands back into Kurt’s, who tries to smile at him like he had at Blaine but receives no smile in response.

Once given a minute for the spell to take effect the three men go back onto the deserted streets (the service at the main Sept doesn’t finish for another ten minutes) and towards the castle, no-one talking but all three watching, Sebastian and Blaine watching the shops and streets, Kurt watching the other men.

They make it up to Sebastian’s room quicker than expected, and there are thankfully no guards posted in the corridor.

“There is a stair case at the end of this corridor Blaine, why don’t you wait for me on the next floor while I talk to Sebastian”. 

Blaine pauses uncertainly, looking at Sebastian one last time before turning away.

“I know this was not what you expected, but I want to tell you that-” Kurt starts but he is cut off before he can even finish his first sentence.

“Look, you may be a prince” Sebastian grits out “even though from your outfit and that face anyone could be fooled into thinking you were a princess, so if you think I'm going to fawn over you like everyone here seems to do just because you twiddle your fingers and weird things happen then you are delusional, because we may be getting married in two weeks but I am not going to just roll over….”

“You know what, fine” says Kurt exasperatedly, “but you’re not exactly the catch of the day either you know”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean your reputation precedes you” Kurt snaps “It’s not like I was overjoyed at the prospect of marrying someone who’s slept with every man on the Three Isles.”

Sebastian is smirking now, looking far too pleased at the insult. “And there I thought you’d be happy marrying someone who knows what they’re doing, because harem or not princess, you look like the May Queen at the festival of the Maiden.”

“Happy doesn't begin to describe it” Kurt drawls sarcastically. “I think the syphilis must have gone to your brain if you think anyone would be happy marrying you.”

“And yet you still agreed” says Sebastian leaning back against the stone wall to fix Kurt with another smug look, his arms crossed over his chest.

Kurt doesn't know how to reply to that. “Well as lovely as this little conversation has been, I have to go back to my Submissive.” he says before turning on his heel.

Sebastian looks at Kurt’s retreating back, feeling anger rise like bile in his throat, Kurt is right to run, though he had found Kurt’s calm demeanour slightly unsettling. He leans against the door frame and turns to return to his room, for the first time in over two years, without Blaine.

********

Blaine stands in the deserted corridor, wondering what to do with himself. Should he kneel? Would it be awkward if someone came past him to find a kneeling Sub with no Dom? Sebastian would want him to kneel; he would see Blaine and his mouth would curl into that pleased smile, turning up at one corner, a little smug and full of pride. But Prince Kurt isn’t like Sebastian, from what he’s seen. The expression on the Prince’s face when the Septon had started asked the Affirmations had been one of reverence, even awe, looking down into Blaine’s face and not taking his eyes off him for even a moment. His memories of Sebastian’s face at their bonding are clouded by the passing of almost two years, but he remembered a look of pride on Sebastian’s face then, a look of determination, a look of duty. And Sebastian isn’t anything but dutiful. Blaine hears footsteps on the stairs. He thinks about kneeling but is just too slow, he instead settles for pushing his back against the wall and bowing his head, staring at the green carpet running down the very middle of the corridor.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice.

“Thank you for waiting” Kurt says and Blaine lifts his head to meet Kurt’s eyes, light green and kind. The good boy is implicit. Blaine feels himself smile shyly. “I thought we could settle into our new quarters? They’re on the north side of the castle, overlooking the sea.”

They take a winding route through the castle, although Kurt reassures him it is a simple square and therefore easy to find your way around. The North side of the castle is much lighter than the town side; a second bay to the west provides glorious sea views on two sides, gloriously comforting to Blaine who has never lived away from the coast.

They stop on the fourth floor, having gone past a big set of dark wood double doors, as tall as the wall, with two guards on either side who bow deeply when they see them, looking straight at Blaine with undisguised interest.

“That’s the main entrance to our apartments.” Kurt tells him conspiratorially as they round a corner. He moves a long tapestry aside to reveal an unadorned door. They are now standing in a perfectly square antechamber; there is a stairwell to the left and doors ahead and to the right, the tapestries on the wall a deep red with gold stags. “This is called the come-and-go- room, it means we can enter and leave our apartments without being seen” Kurt explains.

“But this” Kurt continues “is your bedroom.” He turns the knob of the door to the right of the room and Blaine almost gasps at the view of the beach and dock spread out below, familiar yet so unfamiliar. Although not particularly big the room has enough space for a single bed of solid dark wood, a chest of drawers with a looking glass over it, and a small table. The window has no glass in it, but the green shutters are open wide, flapping in the evening wind. Blaine sees that his ragged trunk has already been placed at the foot of the bed, and it looked fitting in the emptiness of the room with its whitewashed walls and no dressings.

Kurt’s voice cut through Blaine’s thoughts. “I thought we could go and get paint or hangings for this room at the market, tomorrow”.

“That would be nice, sir.” says Blaine slightly awkwardly, he sees Kurt wring his hands before speaking again. “I’ll leave you to change for bed; the basin is in the next room if you would like to wash up.”

Blaine thanks him, sitting on his new bed, the first time he has slept alone in almost two years. After the door (not the one leading to the antechamber or the washroom, a third door) has swung shut behind his new Dominant, Blaine creeps across the woven floor to his coffer. Raising the lid he takes out the statue of the mother that had once stood pride of place in his own mothers’ dressing room, which he had always admired when he used to watch her dress, wind shining strings around her thick dark braids and sweep out of the room, bending to kiss his head whilst he inhaled her perfume. He places it on top of the chest of drawers; he’s not as religious as other Subs, who cling to the figure of the mother as Dominant before, and often during claims, a mistress whose rule is ever perfect. 

As for changing for bed, Blaine doesn’t own any nightclothes, so once he scrubs his face with the soft cloth that has obviously been laid for him (it cheers Blaine to think of Kurt planning out his arrival and trying to make him so comfortable) he strips down to his thin cotton shorts and kneels uneasily in front of the statue, not feeling like sleep just yet. He starts by asking the mother for the normal things he asks for, the health of his parents and for Sebastian’s mother, to watch over the burial mounds of Sebastian’s grandmother and his childhood best friend, and he has been including the health of the King and the royal family in his prayers over the last few months so naturally his thoughts can’t help but turn to Kurt. He’d expected Kurt to be more like Sebastian once the bonding ceremony had ended. There has been no expected show of Dominance, instead he has this time alone, in a room that is entirely his own (he and Sebastian have always shared the same pallet on the roof) which Blaine can’t deny confuses him slightly. He’s been voicing his prayers out loud (help me to be good for Kurt, help me to help him) when he hears the door creak open.

Kurt looks slightly taken aback, whether by what he’s heard Blaine say or by his state of undress, but manages to come into the room more fully.

“I'm sorry if I disturbed you” Kurt says quietly “I can leave and come back when you’re dressed if that would make you more comfortable?”

Blaine looks up at his Dom apologetically “I'm sorry sir, I don’t have any nightclothes, I've never needed them before”.

“I’ll find something for you and put it in the bathroom, I'm sure we have something for visiting guests. Remind me to get you some nightclothes at the market, it’ll be cold at night for a few months yet” Kurt waves away Blaine’s thank you before pausing awkwardly at the door.

“I know we have a lot to discuss, but today has been very long and not without its moments, so I think we can both benefit from a good night’s sleep before we start making any important decisions.” Kurt turns towards the door once again before turning back. “I know this isn't an ideal situation for either of us, but I am glad you’re here Blaine.” Kurt wants to say he’s glad Blaine is his, but how can he say that to someone he has only known for a few hours?

“I’m glad I’m here too, sir.” Blaine says slowly, but he means it, he wonders if he’ll still mean it this time tomorrow.

Once he is dressed in the long night shirt laid out for him he climbs into bed, missing the solid mass of Sebastian behind him and falls asleep almost instantly.

********

Kurt wakes up feeling sick to his stomach. His stomach is roiling unpleasantly as if he is on a sea voyage and although he initially puts it down to hunger he quickly realises it is no such thing. He sees a goblet of water standing on the table and tentatively reaches out for it with his magic, trying to coax the red tendrils to wrap around the glass but the hold is shaky and he manages to slop some of the contents over the flagstones of the floor. When he stands up the world tilts, his feet feel solid on the floor, he’s hyper-aware of them, but the rest of his body feels as if it could float away. The first wisps of red cloud his vision. Kurt can’t think about anything, an unwanted warmth coming through his limbs, and he struggles, still in his night shirt, through to Blaine’s room. The door swings open, Kurt leaning against the door frame, panting, not quite knowing why or how he got here. The fog in his mind begins to clear at the image of Blaine asleep in the bed; dark curls a contrast to the crisp white of the new linen.

He teeters into the room on unsteady feet, places a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and shakes him gently.

“Mmmph?” asks Blaine to no-one in particular, eyes blinking open blearily. “Whattimeisit?” he mumbles.

“Just after nine in the morning.” Kurt says softly, something in him beyond his control wants to reach out to pet Blaine’s hair, to move the sweep of curls from his forehead.

Blaine swings his feet over the side of the bed, standing up so the hem of the huge nightshirt meets the floor.

Kurt has to suppress a giggle at how huge the garment is on Blaine, but must fail, because soon Blaine is laughing himself, holding out the sleeves and giggling when the excess fabric not only covers his hands but trails past them.

“The market starts in an hour, have you got any appropriate clothes, its cold out there”

“I have a cloak?” Blaine replies unsteadily, and Kurt remembers the cloak he had seen him in only yesterday morning, and decides it won’t do against the chill of the morning. Blaine’s coffer is at the end of the bed, a worn thing that looks like it has seen a fair bit of travel, and he opens it only to find more of those thin tunics and one cloak, hem coming loose.

Kurt goes into the bathroom with a jug from Blaine’s room and pulls on the rope to send water flowing down the small chute coming out of the wall to fill it. “How about you wash up and I’ll go find you some clothes, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” says Blaine a little awkwardly, going to the jug and filling the bronze basin, feeling Kurt’s gaze burning through his back.

Kurt tries not to look as Blaine lifts the long garment over his head so he can wash, but he doesn’t stop himself in time, his eyes stray to Blaine’s legs, following the hem of the nightshirt as more skin is revealed. The tiny shorts cling to perfect thighs, and his eyes almost wander slightly higher before he manages to avert his eyes. He leaves the room in a hurry, down the stairs and into his bedroom. He looks at the rails and rails of clothes (moved into the large wardrobe yesterday under his close supervision) with an unfocused gaze that is unlike him. But the reverie doesn’t last and he finds a knee-length forest green tunic that would fit Blaine perfectly, unfortunately trying to find hose is a different matter, and he settles for a pair in navy blue (not wholly perfect, but they’re the only ones he can see that will fit) before finding a navy blue cloak with gold trimmings.

Taking the steps up to the upper floor two by two with the clothes draped over his arm, Kurt finds Blaine completely divested of his nightshirt, and Kurt thinks about leaving the clothes in the basin room, but Blaine is just there, shirtless, albeit in a new pair of shorts (white not light blue) and it’s not that Kurt hasn’t seen a shirtless man before, especially not when he gets sick like he does every couple of months, but Blaine is within touching distance.

Kurt clears his throat, willing himself not to blush and places the clothes over the scroll shaped edge of the bed. “I’m going to leave these here; you know the undershirt goes on first right?” Kurt asks unthinkingly, a strange picture of Blaine in his tunic with the crisp white shirt over the top.

“I know how an undershirt works, Kurt!” Blaine laughs, pausing for a second and expecting Kurt to reprimand him for missing the honorific, he’d certainly had to use titles for the first few months of his bond with Sebastian. No such reprimand comes though, he turns round to see Kurt’s wide smile. Kurt turns to leave. “I’ll see you in the sitting room in ten minutes, once you’re dressed.”

Blain is left alone once again. He pulls on the fitted hose, making messy knots of the strings at the front. He’s out of practice at dressing for cold weather, having been some time since he’s had the occasion. After, he smoothes the clothes down in front of the mirror for a few long moments, admiring the velvet of the tunic with its high collar, parted just slightly at the front revealing the temporary collar Blaine hasn’t really thought about since acquiring it yesterday. His eyes are drawn to it though, supple leather not tight but enough so that he can never be unaware of it and before he knows it his fingers are tracing the band. The cloak, he finds, has no clasp or ties and he thinks of going into the main living area without it on and asking Kurt to help, but finds he’d rather try and sort the problem himself and not risk Kurt’s wrath, especially when he doesn’t know what Kurt’s wrath will entail. He roots through the coffer once more, shoving aside clothes and sandals to find a small circular object wrapped in some sackcloth. The cloak pin is made of gold centuries old, small sapphires glint around its border. It shows a sea in the midst of a storm, waves edged with foam and above a purple thunder sky with a solitary sea bird, its wings outstretched in the centre. He doesn’t know if he can risk wearing it in this strange country, but fixes it on the cloak anyway, smiling when the blue of the sapphires matches the blue and gold of the cloak.

Kurt looks up when the door opens, across the large sitting room, collapsed in what will be one of their dining chairs. Blaine looks, he looks….Kurt knows there must be a word to be describe it, but in that moment he cares more about looking at Blaine than finding that perfect word. The tight fitting hose hug his thighs perfectly; the belt accentuates a neat waist but also picks up the gold from the cloak.

“You look lovely Blaine” Kurt manages to say softly, standing up to move closer towards the Submissive. The first thing he sees is the pin. It’s a gorgeous piece, obviously of some value and age, but it’s not the loveliness of the accessory that makes him stop (although it has been enough in the past) it’s the sigil, a lone seabird. Birds are always Alarian mascots, particular to the rocky east coast of that country. Then, something clicks. He’d seen Blaine’s last name on documents, but hadn’t begun to think that he was an Anderson of the Greencove Andersons, which makes him minor Alarian nobility. He doesn’t comment, he doesn’t dare ask him to take the pin off, knowing how he’d react if someone told to remove his bear pin or the swan that was his mothers. It does go marvelously with the cloak, all being said.

They are stared after by everyone in the castle as they make their way into the sunshine through the main hall of the castle, out through the first set of walls into the town proper. It is already heaving with people, women with baskets full of their purchases, merchants guiding wagons full of produce, the cook stalls down the street filling the air with foul smelling smoke from their little booths. Kurt can see Blaine is slightly bewildered by the thoroughfare, so he stops them just after the guard’s station and leans close.

“The market is always busy and can be dangerous.” he tells Blaine in a serious tone “Stay close to me at all times, don’t wander off, and if anyone says or does anything you don’t feel comfortable with you tell me straight away, do you understand?”

“I understand, sir.” Blaine says, maintaining eye contact with Kurt but flicking his eyes down to his feet after he has finished speaking to show that he takes the command seriously.

Kurt pauses, almost unnoticeably. “Good boy, now where should we start?”

They wander past the rows and rows of trinket and gift stalls, the northern models of boats that glide along the table top on an invisible sea by temporary enchantment and watch an irritated trader haggle with a woman over some Cumaran spices.

They make their way to the cordwainer, where Kurt orders two pairs of sturdy boots for Blaine and one pair of soft court shoes. Past the stalls of the other cobblers and cordwainers are the booksellers, plying thick volumes from their carts.

“Do you want to go have a look at the books Blaine? I noticed you didn’t bring any with you?” Kurt asks not really paying attention to the fall of Blaine’s features at the statement.

“No, I was sent away to the Septas of the Mother on Estaria when I was 12.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, not understanding how this statement is related to books in the least.

“I didn’t go away as a page.” Blaine clarifies.

“Oh?” hedges Kurt, still totally lost.

“Boys in Alaria don’t start academic learning until they become pages, I’d only just started my schooling when I was sent away, I can read, I just can’t read well.”

Kurt pauses for a moment, being able to read isn’t exactly common, though perhaps more so in someone of Blaine’s rank, but Kurt can’t imagine what he would have done to get away from the other pages if he couldn’t read.

“Would you like to be able to read better?”

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it” Blaine says slowly, not knowing the answer Kurt wants him to give. “I suppose if my job is going to be to help you and Sebastian it would be nice to be able to read?”

Blaine is rewarded with a big smile.

Kurt browses the books stopping at the romances and the magic folios while Blaine trails along behind him. 

“What about this one?” Kurt holds up a book bound in light green cloth, ‘A History of the Six Kingdoms’ embossed on the cover. Kurt is paying for the small pile of books when Blaine spots a small book, with the picture of lutes on the cover. Inside are pages and pages of music, not too difficult, but still a challenge, and he goes over to Kurt, unsure of how to ask his new Dom if he can borrow the money for it. Blaine briefly entertains the thought that Kurt may take offence at Blaine asking for the book after buying him the shoes and the other volumes, but before Blaine can open his mouth to ask Kurt looks up.

“You want that one as well? Add it to the pile then.” he says pleasantly.

“Can I? If it’s too expensive I can put it back…it is your money…”

Kurt waves Blaine’s protestations away with a hand. “It’s not just my money; why else did you think we told you to just bring what you needed for the journey if we didn’t plan to set you up once you got here? This money has been allotted for this purpose exactly, so bring the book here and add it to the pile like I told you.”

Blaine duly places the book on top of the others and Kurt only gives it the briefest of glances before the total is totted up by the lady behind the small counter. With a sweep of his fingers Kurt makes the books glow red for the tiniest of moments and the books, floating at waist height, follow him and Blaine through the market. 

“Onto the cloth merchants then Blaine, it’ll be too busy to bear before long.” Kurt says too loudly in his ear, though he isn’t listening, he’s looking instead at a wizened old man hand crafting lutes on the side of the street, the already made ones hanging in the shop window, the bright wood glinting in the winter sunshine.

They get to the cloth stalls not without a little bit of panic, Kurt had turned back momentarily after the mayhem of the last street and panic had risen up in Kurt when he didn’t see Blaine close behind him, although it had turned out Blaine was just on his other side, eyes glued to a second year mage performing cloaking spells on two pairs of dice. 

It was strange though, Blaine thinks, the way they could mill about in the marketplace, an unremarkable sight rather than being a benevolent presence, guarded by soldiers, untouchable. From what he has seen, Restfeld is a weird place.

Kurt’s fabric merchant of choice, Wendel, lets them to the front of the queue as soon as he spies them, over to the most precious fabrics made in colours that are not allowed to be worn by the general populous.

“What can I do for you?” Wendel says kindly.

“We’re looking for clothes for Blaine” Kurt moves aside so Wendel can see Blaine, although a merchant and not a tailor, Wendel has an eye for colours.

“Pleased to meet you my Lord.” says Wendel cheerfully, his gaze lacking the judgmental quality of the other Restfeldians he has met. Blaine must make the right response, because both of the other men are smiling at him, an emotion on Kurt’s face Blaine would almost call fondness.

Kurt pulls a piece of parchment out of a tunic pocket, “We need four nightshirts, four undershirts” Kurt pauses to look at Blaine, mind clearly elsewhere. “Turn round then.” he says to Blaine without preamble. Kurt takes the tape measure that was on the stall and measures across Blaine’s back. He leans out from behind Blaine’s back, “We’ll have those in a size three.” It takes roughly five minutes for a pile of pre-made items to build up on the counter of the stall, socks and a practical cloak, a cloak for riding lined with some sort of fur and a myriad of other items designed for a climate much colder than he’s used to.

Kurt’s head snaps up from the measurement of Blaine’s lower back. “Blaine, choose four fabrics for formal occasions, it doesn’t matter about the price, I just need to go talk to that trader.” He said, nodding to a tall man a few metres from them. “Stay right here, you may talk to Wendel but don’t talk to anyone else, alright?”

A brief pang of anxiety wells up in Blaine, looking at the crowded, unfamiliar place but Blaine assures sir he won’t move or talk to anyone but Wendel and watches Kurt snake through the crowd to the tall man. Kurt is talking concentratedly to the merchant, his money purse from his belt in hand so Blaine doesn’t even notice that he’s being eyed with distaste by two men approaching the garment stalls.

“He should get in line or get away.” says the taller of the men to the other from the back of the customer queue. Blaine doesn’t say anything. The line shuffles forward as Blaine chooses his first two fabrics.

“If you’d move away.” drawls one of the men, presumably in Blaine’s direction, but he’s staring resolutely at the swathes of cloth on the table top, so he can’t tell.

“Move away I said!” says another voice, their tone one of irritation and self-assured entitlement. Blaine raises his gaze and the eyes of the man narrow at the sight of his collar. “Move away, how am I supposed to see the fabrics with you standing in the way?!”

Blaine still doesn’t reply.

The man’s gaze is fixed at Blaine’s throat. “Hey Alarian, are you mute or just simple?” says the man, in a voice Blaine has heard Sebastian use on more than one occasion. “DO YOU SPEAK OUR LANGUAGE???” the man says slowly and loudly enough to draw the attention of the remaining five shoppers not already standing and staring at the commotion.

“He can’t reply” says Wendel firmly.

The second man looks indignant. “And who asked you?”

“Come on Ormonde, let’s not waste our time here, there are plenty of other fabric merchants.” the first man pulls on his friends’ sleeve to try and convince him to walk away.

“No!” Ormande snaps “I want to know why this….this Submissive thinks he can stand here like a lump of clay and disobey a direct order! Any idiot who leaves their Submissive alone, and one on a temporary claim at that, deserves to have them punished by someone who…-”

The man’s rant is interrupted by Wendel “I would strongly advise you against interfering, my lord, the gentleman isn’t one you should be making choices for.” The merchant indicates Blaine, frozen to the spot with fear, eyes darting wildly between the three men.

“It doesn’t matter who he’s owned by,” Ormonde retorts dismissively, “I told him to move aside and-”

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three extra information posts for this 'verse on my tumblr (signalstoradar.tumblr.com).

“Is there a problem here gentlemen?” the two men stare dumbfounded at Kurt, stunned silent. “Have you chosen your fabrics Blaine, I was thinking the burgundy?”

Blaine moves aside to reveal the pile of four folded fabric samples he’d laid out in front of him, including the thrice dyed burgundy fabric even Sebastian would struggle to afford.

“These are good choices, Blaine; we’ll try and get you some clothes made up soon, yes?” Kurt turns a radiant smile on him.

“Thank you sir” Blaine replies automatically, still revelling in the praise when he sees the two men trying to slink away.

“And as for you” Kurt whirls round to face them, “Don’t think I didn’t hear the idiot comment, I expect you both to report to me tomorrow where we can discuss how you seem to think a Submissives worth is linked to who they’re owned by” Kurt draws out sarcastically “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir” they reply, the first one looking chastened and Ormonde still looking angry.

“Be on your way then” adds Wendel finally, clearly enjoying the situation, but turning his smile on a pale faced Blaine while he wraps the pre-bought items in brown paper and ties them with twine. Blaine is a little dumbfounded to say the least, the way in which the two Dominants had yielded, and even looked sorry (in the case of the first man) was something he had never seen. Dominants always got into arguments, usually there was a Submissive involved, but he’d never seen a fight like this start and finish so quickly. Blaine attributes it to the privilege of being the Crown Prince. 

A voice breaks through his thoughts. “Blaine are you alright?” Kurt. He sounds worried. “Blaine you’re shaking”.

He hears Kurt say something to Wendel, but he can’t quite make it out, the sounds echo unpleasantly, the din of the bust marketplace could be a thousand miles away, the way it sounds in his ears.

An arm is put around his shoulders, and it tethers him like a balloon, steady and sure.

“Can you take a slow breath Blaine?” That voice again. “In and out, just like that, you’re doing so well” the voice pauses. “I never should have left you alone like that, not even for a minute”. His legs are moving, he’s walking, but towards what he doesn’t know. “We’ll get you home” a voice, no, Kurt, says soothingly, over and over until the words run together in Blaine’s ears.

The castle is deathly quiet after the roar of the crowd outside. Once back in their rooms Kurt removes Blaine’s cloak with careful fingers, putting the broach safely on a side table. The sitting room is bright and airy, a rectangular long room with an added semi-circle at the end, an old tower whose wall had been replaced with three glass panels overlooking the headland and out to sea.

Kurt guides Blaine into one of the armchairs facing the sea view, coaxing a cup of water into his hand with a determined efficiency, summoning a side table and a blanket to unfold itself over Blaine’s lap.

“There you go” Kurt soothes, earning a shaky smile from Blaine.

Somewhere in the intervening minutes Blaine’s shoulders relax, Kurt continues to potter around him, opening the curtains around the glass wall still further, chattering about where he is going to put the books bought at the market. Eventually Kurt settles down, enchanting the other chair to move itself so it is next to Blaine and he all but collapses into it, moving the blanket so it is over his lap too. Their socked feet keep touching from under the soft material. Blaine dozes.

He wakes up with a start a little while later; Kurt is reading a book: ‘Estarian customs and culture’, filled with pictures of the familiar dockyards and the sea creatures caught for the market. Kurt glances up at him, obviously surprised to find Blaine’s eyes open.

“You’re awake” Kurt says redundantly. They resume talking, Kurt takes some joy in quietly telling Blaine about the boats they see depart from the capital, where they are going and what they are carrying. Blaine doesn’t think it important to tell Kurt that there isn’t much about boats and trading routes that are new to him, having lived next to and worked in a shipyard since he was 12, he likes the quiet conversation and the almost indulgent way Kurt looks at him after he’s explained something.

“That one’s Lord Wainwright’s, going to Estaria I bet” Kurt point to a fat vessel which has just been loosed from its moorings. 

Blaine doesn’t even think before answering. “No, it’s Thursday, it’ll be Lord Hazelhurst with the long timbers for weekend ship construction”

“Oh?”

“I used to work in the shipyards, when I was old enough, sketching designs for the prow decoration, the figureheads, that sort of thing” Blaine says nonchalantly, watching the ship rapidly get smaller in the distance.

“And you went to Estaria when you were twelve?” Kurt prompts.

Blaine nods. “Sebastian’s grandmother arranged it”.

No-one needed to tell Kurt who Sebastian’s grandmother had been, she was an almost legendary figure to many, a fearsome warrior and famous dominant, she had aided Kurt’s father in keeping some of the northern territories when Burt was still a prince.

“Isn’t twelve a little young, even for arranged bonds?” Kurt thinks out loud, and then mentally scolds himself for saying something potentially offensive.

“It wasn’t to arrange any sort of bond, though doubtless she had that in the back of her mind, she arranged for me to be fostered by the Septas at an orphanage of the seven, because it was getting too dangerous to keep me at home”

“You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to Blaine”, Kurt is slightly worried at the look on Blaine’s face, his gaze going a little distant.

“No, it’s fine” Blaine says hurriedly. It’s a conversation Blaine’s only ever had in passing with Sebastian, and it somehow feels nice, explaining this to someone. Especially with someone who doesn’t seem to mind he’s an Alarian, despite the fact that Restfeld and the Islands haven’t been at anything approaching peace with his country in nearly 150 years.

“So, I have a brother, Cooper, and when he was 12 a noble from the court came to see if he was dominant or submissive” Blaine explains, pausing to take a breath. “So the courtier went back to the capital, Cooper was acknowledged as a sub and about a year later my father received a letter from the King, commanding him to present Cooper for training at his court”.

“Like going to train as a page?” Kurt asks

“My father thought so” Blaine says bitterly, “but when the two years was up he told my father he was so impressed with Cooper that he was going to make him a courtier, of course my father was very happy with this at the time” Blaine pauses, unsure, “But then Lord Hartfoot was executed for trying to get his son back from court”

“Why?” Kurt asks, astonished.

“The King had arranged his son’s bonding to one of his chief nobles for a fee without the consent of his family, and by the time my father realised this was the King’s plan for all subs at court, Cooper had been bonded for six months”.

“That’s awful!” says Kurt indignantly “Surely that’s against the law? Did your father appeal to his Dominant?”

“Yes, he did, but he found the Lady in question had no idea that Cooper had been bonded without their consent. She’s a…a good person, my brother’s Dom, she and Cooper visit my parents regularly, I think my father thinks we could have gotten off a lot worse, considering some of the people other submissives have been sold to”.

Kurt mulls this over for a second, the picture becoming clearer in his mind. “So your parents sent you to Estaria because they thought the King would ask for you too?”

“It just kept happening, all of the submissives of noble families kept being taken away, and the price of rebellion isn’t even worth thinking about. Sebastian’s grandmother had been only too happy to help when my father wrote to her, and by the time the letter came for me I was gone”.

“I bet the King wasn’t too happy about that” laughs Kurt a touch insensitively.

Blaine’s eyes crinkle mischievously. “No he wasn’t, I think he’s going to be even unhappier when he finds out I’ve married the son of his arch enemy”

“Yes, I don’t doubt he will be” says Kurt, saving this conversation in his brain so he can go to the council with it tomorrow morning. King or not, bonding subs without their consent, for money or not, was very highly illegal. “So how did you end up bonded to Sebastian if you were taken to an orphanage?”

“When I was fourteen Sebastian came to the monastery complex for his lessons and after that his grandmother used to send him to keep me company” Blaine smiles at the memory of Sebastian turning up in the hallway of the home, often nervously clutching presents for Blaine from his grandmother. “His grandmother visited me one day before my sixteenth birthday and asked me whether I’d thought about Sebastian being my Dominant, and I agreed”.

Kurt is surprised to hear the warmth in the statement, he’d thought their bonding had been entirely for the Smythe’s benefit, but there is a little smile playing on Blaine’s lips, as if it is something he recalls fondly.

“Then Sebastian’s grandmother passed away” Blaine says with a long exhale, “And she’d stipulated the arrangements for the bond in her will, but it didn’t happen for another year”.

“I’m sorry” Kurt says, somewhat automatically even though he hates it when people say it to him. “She sounds like a wonderful woman”.

Blaine smiles softly. “She was”.

Kurt does the sums in his head, “So you and Sebastian have been bonded for two years?”

Blaine nods.

A small while later a serving boy delivers their lunch, which they move to their unnecessarily long table to eat, the conversation flows smoothly, and Blaine comments on the wall decoration and Kurt has to fight to stop himself from blushing.

Kurt makes the tray with their empty plates disappear and reappear in the kitchens and he fixes Blaine with a serious expression. 

“I said this to Sebastian as well” Kurt starts “But I know this is a difficult situation for all of us, but I’m determined to try and make it work”.

“As am I sir” Blaine says, finding, much to his surprise that the statement is true.

I’m glad to hear it” Kurt smiles, “I know we’ll have to change any contract we decide on after the wedding, but I think a temporary written contract would help, so you know what to expect and have time to ask questions before we go changing it again”.

Blaine nods, remembering the time when he and Sebastian had gone through their contract, it had been awkward then, and is still awkward now. 

“I know we don’t know each other and that will take time, but this contract is only a start, you can write your limits down for me whenever you feel comfortable, take as much time as you need” Kurt says gently. “They enclosed a copy of yours and Sebastian’s contract with the marriage agreement” Kurt continues, as evenly as he can “But I didn’t look at it, I’d rather get to a point where you felt comfortable in telling me yourself”

“I’d rather tell you now” says Blaine in a rush, “If that’s agreeable to you”

This isn’t what Kurt had expected. In every class he’d ever taken he’d been told to take his time, that a submissive with a dominant they’d never met before had to feel comfortable and safe before giving up such private information. He’d thought about it, daydreaming about showing his new submissive all the places he liked best (that was still his plan) showing him the gardens and the stables before the faceless sub (who had looked a bit like Jeff for a while, he was embarrassed to admit) confessed his deepest secrets and there his daydreams usually ended. He felt a little foolish at the recollection of these daydreams and even more foolish knowing that he still wanted parts of them to come true.

“Of course it is” says Kurt finally “Shall we get started?”

Blaine nods, going to get the contracts the Septon had handed him at the end of the handing over ceremony.

The contract is the standard temporary agreement in both Restfeld, Estaria and Cumara, and they read over the familiar declaration and code of conduct, making additions and changes along the way, Kurt doesn’t demand Blaine call him sir all the time, like Sebastian had when they were first claimed, but they get to the paragraph labelled ‘duties’ relatively quickly.

“I thought we could go through this paragraph by going on a walk” says Kurt, gesturing for Blaine to stand up, which he does and follows Kurt into a room he’s never been into before. It looks like a library but he doesn’t have time to look properly before they are going down a set of spiral stairs.

“That is the private library, this lower library is purely for legal documents and books we may need for our day to day work” Kurt explains, going into a second come and go room, identical to the one above it. The end up in the main corridor and turn the corner where a set of large double doors stand.

“Our upper floor is only for our use, friends and family may be invited into the upper sitting room and the library only”. Kurt nods to the guards who open the immense doors. “This floor however, is where courtiers, ambassadors will come on business and where we will entertain foreign visitors”.

The room they in is opulently decorated, but small, the only furnishings in it a table and some chairs. “All guests will start in this room, but there is a series of rooms beyond it and each person may only progress so far, based on business and rank” Kurt explains, turning to Blaine.

“It is very important for you to remember how far certain people can progress, for example, royal councillors are to bypass these rooms and be let into the audience chamber, or if their business is urgent, to my office”. Kurt explains this in a serious tone, as they pass the first room and through the second and third, detailing what to say to guests while they wait for Kurt or Sebastian. The audience chamber is exactly the same shape as their sitting room upstairs, but decorated in lavish tapestries of a hunting scene picked out in gold.

The next rooms are Sebastian’s and Kurt’s offices and Blaine knows Seb will love the long room with its imposing desk and maps along one wall. Kurt’s office however, looks well lived in, as this was the first room in the apartments to be moved into. There is a stack of books and documents on the desk, a map spread all over the desk and quills everywhere. Kurt smiles at Blaine slightly abashed. “It’s not usually this messy” he says, pushing the map to one side.

“I showed you this floor because it will be your job to ensure my…. our” he amends, “royal business runs smoothly. No courtier is allowed to appeal directly to us; they must go through you first”. Kurt punctuates the last word, emphasising how important Blaine’s role is, telling him more about how his duties in fetching books and maintaining Kurt and Seb’s appointments.

They go back up to the sitting room and go through the rest of the contract, details of presenting positions Kurt is sure Blaine already knows, but they get to limits far quicker than Kurt wants to.

Kurt had put the copy of Sebastian and Blaine’s contract on the table when they had started and Blaine reaches for it, turning it round so it is in front of Kurt.

Kurt just gives Blaine a confused look. Oh.

“If you can’t write them Blaine you could just tell me?” he asks softly, seeing that Blaine is embarrassed.

“I thought it would be easier, sir” he answers, pushing his contract over to Kurt so he can write them in.

Kurt glances down the list, some things on the list Kurt expects, some he thought would be on there are not, and some genuinely take him by surprise. Sebastian must have updated this list frequently, as there are multiple notes in the margin and additions made in different inks. Kurt’s opinion of Sebastian improves the tiniest fraction, especially seeing a small note to remind Blaine to drink water regularly, the words ‘gets dehydrated easily’ written in a small hand under the ‘any other notes/aftercare’ section.

“I think we’re done then” Kurt says, smiling at Blaine, who picks up the quill and signs his name. It is written carefully but in an unsteady hand, and the contracts are swapped so both pieces of parchment are signed.

They end up back in the chairs by the window, sitting again with a blanket over both of their laps. It’s strangely peaceful, and the two men watch the ships until the light begins to fade. Blaine explains all of the ships they see, painting a vivid picture of island life and how vital the shipping industry is, how all Estarians have profit to be made in the coming and going of the vessels they are the chief manufacturer of. The light has gone now, it’s past eleven and they continue their conversation using the lights of the ships and the solitary lighthouse.

Kurt has just launched into a description of the cargo, large galley going to the southern ports is carrying when he glances at Blaine. Head tilted back, mouth wide open. He’s fast asleep. He hesitates for a moment before carrying Blaine, still fully clothed, into his bedroom and tucking him in after removing his shoes. Kurt puts Blaine’s new clothes on top of the dresser and with one backwards glance heads across the sitting room to his own bed.


	5. Chapter 4a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Matt for the beta and the honest feedback. There are also three extra information posts for this verse at my tumblr (signalstoradar@tumblr.com), including floor plans which may be useful for this chapter. I am not an expert on horses or birds, so I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies.

He wakes up at the end of his first week with the strange Prince to the sound of tweeting. He gets out of bed slowly, still a little disorientated at waking in the strange set of rooms. In the large sitting room, by the open window, is a cage made of twisted gold. Inside is a small pale bird, the colour of lemon curd, hopping around spiritedly on its perch. Blaine goes over to it before he even knows what he is doing, not daring to put his fingers through the finely crafted bars. He will not play with what is not his. He does coo at it softly and the sound it makes in reply conjures a memory so strong that he feels weakened by it.

He is twelve years old, bright sunlight is shining through windows and the white translucent curtains flap on a light breeze. It’s not that twelve year-old Blaine hasn’t seen sun before, but he has never experienced a heat so constant, so dry, as he has in the two weeks since he left his home and sailed across the sea. He is in a room filled from floor to ceiling with birds, some in cages, some flitting about the room, but Blaine’s favourites are the doves. He loves taking them out at cupping them between his hands, stroking them and talking to them. He looks at the pictures in the books in the Septa’s library with them on his lap and shows more interest in them than in any of the other foundlings in the care of the Sisters of the Seven. For a long time, they are his only friends.

Blaine whistles a little tune to the bird which is still flitting around its cage, before the small cage door swings open upon golden hinges and the bird flies out as if from a slingshot to circle around Blaine’s head. The bird settles on Blaine’s forearm, hopping from foot to foot as if assessing him, taking Blaine’s invitation to hop into his palm and he cups it the way he used to do, singing gently.

I knew of a boy with flowers in his hair  
With eyes of greenest green….

Blaine is sitting in one of large chairs a little while later, cradling the bird when he hears a rustle from behind him.

“I didn’t mean to…” Blaine stutters, eyes wide at the sight of Kurt standing in the arch that leads to the library. “The cage door was open, I didn’t….”

“It’s okay Blaine, I believe you. Nothing will keep Pav in his cage if he sets his mind to getting free, will it? You magical hairball!” coos Kurt, coming over to run an indulgent finger over Pav’s back.

Blaine looks at the bird, which looks up at him, cocking its little head as if to protest its innocence. “The bird’s….The bird is magical?!” he breathes, not quite believing it.

“Only a little. He was my bird when I started training in the Mage’s guild,” says Kurt, recollecting the moment he was given the small bird fondly.

Pavarotti flies from Blaine’s hand to land on Kurt’s fist, pecking at it to see if there are any seeds hidden there. “Stop pecking me or I’ll turn you into a goblet,” Kurt tells him imperiously. The bird goes back to Blaine.

“It seems you’ve made a friend there Blaine, Pav isn’t usually so friendly.”

“I would go so far as to call him haughty,” says a third voice from the door. There are two men in the doorway, both wearing matching expressions of badly disguised amusement.

“Ah, Wes, you’re early” states Kurt, going over to greet the newcomers.

“Only by thirty-four seconds, Sir.” The man looks at the clock pointedly. Kurt raises one eyebrow challengingly, but is smiling nonetheless. Blaine watches the exchange with both confusion and interest, especially intrigued by the easy way the man had challenged Kurt, the use of the title and Kurt’s reaction, warning but good natured. Blaine hastens over to the newcomers, trying to keep in mind what Sebastian’s mother has taught him about being a gentleman.

Kurt gestures to the men. “Blaine, this is Wes Montgomery and David Thomson, of Montgomery and Horton-Cobb respectively”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” smiles David, a sentiment which is echoed by Wes, albeit in a more serious tone.

“Wes and David have agreed to be your tutors, if you so wish,” explains Kurt and Blaine is speechless. He had made a throw-away comment when they were watching the boats that he sometimes felt he’d missed out on his knightly training by going away so early. He’d been taught music by the Estarian High Septa herself of course, and had been taught basic swordplay and court ritual, but he’d missed out on learning so many of the things that a young nobleman was prided for, that would make Sebastian proud of him.

“Only if you want, but I thought it may be nice for you to spend some time with other submissives,” Kurt qualifies, mistaking Blaine’s expression for caution.

Still reeling, Blaine almost falls over himself to accept, and before he can stop himself he’s hugging a surprised Kurt, bouncing slightly on his heels.

“I guess that’s a yes then,” laughs David, “Shall we get started?”

Blaine follows the two men out through the come-and-go room and into the corridor, flashing Kurt a backward glance and a wide smile. The castle is still unfamiliar to him, tradition dictating he and Kurt stay mostly within their apartments until the wedding. They end up in another come and go room, perfectly round, which leads into a library, also perfectly round. The wooden floor and furnishings almost make it look as though they are inside of a tree trunk except for the wide set of stairs leading up, a heavy curtain at the top closing off the room beyond from view.

“This is Prince Kurt’s former chambers; the Royal library will be full of scholars and scribes at this time of day and we wanted to conduct the lesson in private,” explains Wes.

They settle at the thick wooden table, David taking books down from shelves and spreading them out; books on history, books on art, books on Restfeldian geography. They spend the first hour talking about what little education Blaine has had, Blaine feeling able to stipulate what he’s most interested in, and he is surprised when the men don’t treat him like he’s a small child when Blaine feels so much like one next to them.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to ask a question that sounds slightly stupid, even in his head. “Wes…” he starts nervously, “What is magic actually for?”

Wes looks slightly taken aback at the question; he pauses, considering the answer for a long moment. “Magic can be used for lots of things, I guess, but the main types of magic Restfeld relies on are seed magic and magic that manipulates the elements to ensure harvests and winds for trade.”

“There are, of course, more types of magic than these,” David continues, “But types of magic rely very much on the power of the user; for example, a more powerful mage can use all types of elemental magic, but a less powerful one may only have the aptitude for water based magic or so on.”

Wes nods at his friend’s explanation. “Take King Burt for example, his job is to oversee all affairs of the realm that concern magic, or need magic to thrive, which he does with the help of the Mages’ Guild. Strength of magic does not necessarily follow bloodlines. For instance, the King is most skilled in the manipulation of objects but is otherwise not a very powerful mage, whereas at twenty-two, Prince Kurt is undoubtedly one of the most powerful Royal Mages for centuries.”

“Children who show magical ability are usually trained from a young age, but the power of a mage only starts to reveal itself when they come of age, which is usually much later.” David looks at Blaine, “Has that answered your question?”

“Yes, thank you.” Blaine stalls for a moment, “How do you know when mages come of age?”

“Generally, they are likely to suddenly feel much more powerful, the red glow associated with magic becomes clearer, and spells fail less than a younger mage’s, whose magic is usually very unpredictable, would, you see.” Wes tells Blaine in his no-nonsense tone.

David looks from Wes to Blaine cautiously, the two men communicating silently, although Blaine knows not what about. “Although that is not the only thing…” starts Wes, talking slowly as if considering every word. “The coming of age in magic users also coincides with their first Dominant or submissive instincts; as their power grows, so does their need to Dominate or submit, although this happens later than non-magical users….”

“What Wes is trying to say,” interrupts David, taking a book from a shelf and opening it, “is that the, err, need, manifests itself in the same way as in non-magical folk, but continuously, until such a time that their magic is stable, or that they find their need to Dominate or submit is being exercised.”

Blaine’s eyes go wide. The illustration in the book is of a young man lying on a bed, his face twisted up in an expression that holds both pain and pleasure, a red glow emitting from where his body meets the mattress. He remembers the first time he’d felt compelled to submit: a hazy three days, the perfect pressure of hands holding him down, keeping him steady until he felt he could float away. He can’t imagine what it might be like for Kurt. After those three days he’d felt that dire need only sporadically, a reminder that he needed, but nothing resembling the exquisite torture of his coming of age.

Wes is wringing his hands slightly awkwardly, “We thought someone would have told you this, and there’s no way Kurt would tell you himself.”

Blaine must make the face of the truly confused because Wes immediately launches into an explanation. “When Kurt first started getting… sick, about four years ago now, he kept it a secret and didn’t tell anyone and he quickly became very ill.”

“I heard about that,” Blaine responds, thinking back to the messages about the Prince being struck down with a wasting sickness, bedbound, while the country wondered if he’d live. Restfeldian news was always keenly discussed in Estaria, a by-product of their shared history and their reliance on Restfeldian trade. “Why would he want to keep it a secret?”

David smiles, looking to Wes before he speaks “It’s tradition in Restfeld for the Prince to assemble a harem when he comes of age, not only to serve him in his sickness, but to improve relations between the monarchy and the noble families from which the boys or girls are chosen. They also act as friends and companions, they are often chosen because they share his interests, and they act on his behalf when he becomes King.”

“Kurt was strongly opposed to the idea. He thinks the concept is archaic and that no-one should be forced to serve him in that way, that it is a reminder of the days when the monarchy kept the nobility under control by using the harem as a threat, a way to take away their heirs and turning them against their families,” Wes says softly. “Of course no-one is forced, and it is seen as an honour to be chosen, but it is something he feels very strongly about and once His Highness sets his mind to something it is very rarely left unfinished.”

Blaine smiles. He is beginning to see just how determined Kurt can be, how seriously he takes his duty to his people. The next few hours speed by; Blaine learns a lot about the court and his role, especially when they start on the history of Royal Submissives. The figures in the book seem eerily real yet totally foreign to him, he feels like he understands them but simultaneously feels completely cut off from these great figures and their choices and achievements, this list of subs who have had more power than Blaine ever thought possible.

On the way out Blaine goes over to a harpsichord in the corner of the room, letting his fingers trail over the shiny keys, creating a soft plinking sound in its wake.

“Do you play, Blaine?” asks David enthusiastically.

Blaine doesn’t look up from the instrument. “Yes” he whispers, with a small smile. It is a beautiful instrument.

David smiles back, “Would you like to see the music room?”

Blaine’s enthusiasm shows on his face and the three men turn out of Kurt’s room, down some steps and through a door. The room is as large as all the other rooms in the palace Blaine has seen, but is filled with instruments of every type, lutes and keyboard instruments, harps and horns. It is unlike anything Blaine has ever seen, and he waits in the door, not knowing which instrument to try first.

Wes clears his throat in the background. “Sorry to cut this whistle-stop tour short, but we promised your Dominant that we’d have you back by midday.”

Blaine looks at the room one more time before closing the door again and following Wes and David back to his apartments.

******

Kurt enters the council chamber a little after two. Most of the councillors are in the process of exiting, leaving only Red, Green and the King still seated.

“Tell Clavius that we need that wine by Tuesday,” the King is saying to a councillor. “Kurt! You’re here!”

Kurt goes over to his father who stands to hug him, then seats himself in an empty chair next to Burt. “So kiddo,” the King pauses, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good news?” Kurt tries, trying not to give in to the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“The good news is all the preparations for the wedding are going exactly as planned. The decorations you insisted upon are already here from the south, although why you can’t let one of the courtiers decorate the place for you is a mystery.”

Kurt mock huffs “I told you father, I’d rather do it myself. I like organising these things.”

Burt smiles at being able to wind his son up so easily, but his expression changes when he remembers the bad news he has to relay.

“Unfortunately, we’ve had bad news from Greencove.” Burt pulls out an envelope with ‘His Majesty Burt, King of Resteld’ written on it in a spidery hand of green ink. “Lord And Lady Anderson feel there is no safe way they’ll be able to attend the wedding, and we have decided it would be an insult to the Alarian King to ask for Lord Cooper when court is in session, especially if the King feels cheated of Blaine’s claim.”

Kurt’s face falls. Poor Blaine, he thinks, to not be able to have any of his own family at his wedding.

Burt looks his son dead in the eyes. “We did try, Kurt, we asked the Numarans if they’d grant his parents safe passage to Numar, where they could be collected, but the Numarans didn’t want any reason to provoke Alaria into conflict with them.”

Green takes over, his placating tone the same as the one he’d used when Kurt was a child trying to shirk his duties in favour of playtime. “We can’t sail round to the south either; a Restfeldian ship in Alarian water will seem like an act of war, and we have good reason to believe the King will take any opportunity to take Greencove if its masters are seen to be colluding with us.”

“But they’re not colluding, it’s a wedding!” Kurt raises his voice in irritation.

“We can’t risk war so your in-laws can come to your wedding,” drawls Red unhelpfully. “Most people dread meeting their in-laws.”

Green looks at Red with an expression of long suffering and annoyance.

“It seems especially hard for parents who haven’t seen their son in seven years,” says Burt. “There’s two letters in here for Blaine, one from his parents and another one from his brother” Kurt is handed two letters and he pockets them to give to Blaine later.

“And Sebastian’s family?” Kurt asks

“They have accepted,” says Green, “At least there’s that.”

“Though why you’d want to bring all those children is beyond me,” Red chimes in sullenly.

It is the King’s turn to glare at Red. Having more than one or two children is rare in Restfeld, so Sebastian’s small army of siblings is unheard of.

Kurt sighs “Is that all?”

“That’s all, son,” Burt echoes, giving his son the list of who has accepted their invitations and who has declined.

Kurt trudges up to his chambers resignedly, not wanting to give Blaine the news. He wonders if he should give him the letters first, to help cushion the blow.

“I’ve got some letters here,” Kurt starts nervously, “From your parents and one from Cooper?” he holds out the letters like an offering, seeing Blaine’s face light up at the green ink.

“My mother wrote this,” he exhales, running a hand over the lettering.

“Would you like me to read them to you? Or I can call a scribe?”

Blaine is pensive for a moment. “Can I try reading them myself first? If I get stuck I’ll call you.”

Kurt smiles, “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the big bedroom putting my things away if you need me”. The big bedroom is what they’ve been calling their marital chamber, an imposing room that is entirely too big, its centre taken up by a massive bed. Kurt has been pottering around ‘the big bedroom’ since the first time he was let in after the decorators had renovated it, making it less gauche and more understated, changing brocade for clean lines, heavy embroidered curtains for thin gauzy ones, making the most of the perfect view of the bay. If asked, Kurt wouldn’t hesitate to say that their bedroom has the best view in the entire castle.

Kurt sits on the bed to survey his handiwork when he hears snuffling from outside the open door. He calls Blaine’s name but no reply comes. He tries again. Blaine pokes his head through the door, eyes red with the sign of tears.

“Oh Blaine,” says Kurt, holding out his arms when Blaine takes a step towards him. Kurt sighs, hating seeing tear tracks streak Blaine’s face as he lingers reluctantly in the doorway. They keep eye contact for a long moment, but Blaine doesn’t move. “Come here, Beautiful” Kurt says quietly.

It is almost as if something snaps in Blaine. He looks at his Dom for a few seconds, looking at Kurt’s calm face and open arms and finding only concern and compassion there. He doesn’t waste a moment in going over to Kurt, despite his mortification that he has caught him crying, that he hasn’t been able to keep composure in front of his Dom.

Blaine lets himself be hugged by Kurt, lets strong arms wrap around him until he is sitting with Kurt on the edge of the bed. His sniffs become tears again, the bright ink of the letters marred with them. Blaine shifts so his head is tucked under Kurt’s chin and Kurt can feel moisture soak through his tunic, but he ignores it, cuddling even closer to the other boy.

“I just wanted them to be here,” says Blaine sullenly.

“I know,” responds Kurt, shhh-ing quietly when Blaine’s sobs get louder, stroking his back in a comforting slow rhythm and all but pulling him into his lap.

“Are your family alright?” asks Kurt when Blaine’s sobs have become snuffles again.

“Yes, fine. My childhood friend died last year and my mother and father have taken her widowed sub and three boys into their care and settled them at their second castle in Greenock” Blaine says, and Kurt can see this news makes him happy.

Kurt smiles, “That’s good news.”

“It is,” Blaine says happily before his voice takes on a darker tone, “let’s hope to the Maiden that the boys turn out to be Doms.”

It makes a minute for Kurt to understand, but then he realises the boys all stand being taken away, yet another blow to Blaine’s parents, and of course the poor sub who has lost his Dom and is likely to lose his children.

Kurt is somewhat surprised that Blaine chooses to stay in his hold long after his sobbing has subsided, but they rest there, until Kurt’s legs have truly gone numb.

“Get off, you. I’ve lost all feeling in my legs.” Kurt lightly pushes Blaine off, who laughs unguardedly and shifts, falling backward so he is lying on the bed. His hands move to behind his head, and Kurt thinks what a picture that makes, Blaine’s eyes falling closed.

“Don’t fall asleep, if you keep napping during the day like you did yesterday you won’t be able to sleep at night,” Kurt chides.

Blaine thinks about saying that there are better things they could be doing at night but stops himself. “I’m still tired from the voyage,” he says with an exaggerated pout.

“Blaine,” says Kurt warningly, but his gaze holds no anger.

“Yes sir,” Blaine says, holding his hand out, which Kurt takes unthinkingly. Blaine pulls him down so he is sprawled on the bed beside him, chest heaving with surprise and the force with which he hits the cushy surface. Blaine’s eyes are no longer red, back to their normal hazel colour, but they seem greener, flecks of innumerable colours and Kurt could stare at them all day. He leans on his forearm and looks at Blaine laid out against the cornflower blue sheets, watching him and being watched in return.

Kurt leans in and places a kiss to Blaine’s forehead and watches Blaine’s eyes close. “I’m sorry, Blaine,” he says quietly, feeling a little desperate at not being able to fix the situation for his submissive. Wasn’t it his job as a Dominant to make life as easy for Blaine as he could?

“It’s alright, Kurt, I know you tried your hardest.” Blaine admits, but it just sounds resigned to Kurt, who hates seeing Blaine so upset.

“I will always try my hardest for you,” Kurt says decidedly, maintaining eye contact for a moment until he is forced to look away. When Kurt leans down this time he feels a surge of something in his gut, the need to protect in its most visceral form, the need to hurt those who have hurt Blaine in the past.

The kiss is not just a quick touch of lips, it is longer and more searching. The way Blaine seems to melt under him sparks another rush of that same feeling of possession that is overwhelming but welcome.

Kurt has never been allowed to feel possessive, but that is the life of a Prince; his father belongs to him, in some ways, but also belongs to the kingdom, and it is to the kingdom that he owes his duty. His tutors were not his alone, his nanny had long left him to serve another noble boy and he had never entertained the thought that he owned the boys of his harem. In all truth, the Warblers are probably the thing he is allowed to feel possessive about, but his dismissal of the entire tradition has prevented him from doing so, despite his closeness to them. It makes his responsibility over Blaine the sweeter, makes him hyper-aware of the things he owes the younger boy and it only makes him more determined to value Blaine in every way he can.

He kisses the tear tracks on Blaine’s cheeks, the left first and then the right, tracing the lines with his thumb. Blaine arches up slightly to kiss at the pads of Kurt’s thumbs when they wander near his mouth in a way that is so reverent and intimate that it makes his breath come faster, his heart pound faster and he feels his control slip slightly.

Sitting up hurriedly, he gazes down at Blaine while he feels the world tilt back to normal. He is desperate not to lose control. All of his sexual experiences have been marred by the heady daze of his sickness and renders him unable to remember it without the memory being blurred and distorted.

“Is something wrong?” Blaine sits up too, worry on his face, wondering what he must have done to make Kurt recoil so quickly.

Kurt forces himself to smile for Blaine’s benefit, reaching out with an arm to wrap around Blaine’s shoulders. “No, Blaine, nothing is wrong, just got a little dizzy that’s all.”

“Are you unwell? Can I get anything for you?”

Kurt waves away Blaine’s concern with a hand. “No, I’m fine. I think I’m going to potter around in here for a while longer, if that’s alright with you. When I told the court furnishers to go with a white and gold colour scheme I certainly did not envisage this mess.” The tension is forgotten with Kurt’s joke, Blaine looks around at the room for the first time since he entered it, the white wood panelling is beautiful, the ornate furniture is also painted white with gold edging, the cornflower blue and gold textiles provide a light airiness to the room that is so unlike Kurt’s quarters as a child. He finds he loves this room most of all, it feels calm to him, both reminding him of the white villas of Estaria while being entirely new at the same time.

“Sir?” Blaine pauses, “Can I possibly go to the music room?”

“Of course, Blaine, thank you for asking me. Do you want me to come with you?” enquires Kurt.

“No thank you, if that’s okay.”

Kurt smiles at Blaine understandingly, watching Blaine get off the bed and smooth down his clothes. Blaine is always neat in his apparel, and today is no different. He looks every inch the court gentleman he had thought of growing up. “Can you get there yourself? “

Blaine nods confidently.

“Well, be back for half two,” says Kurt in a tone that brooks no argument.

Blaine leaves with a ‘Yes Sir’ and Kurt is alone once again.

***************

Blaine comes back at twenty-five past two looking visibly more relaxed, to find Kurt reading in the library, a pile of discarded tomes at his feet. It is another room Blaine has not yet ventured into, and he steps past the golden arch into the vast room with a little trepidation. It is a room that is spread over two floors, a mezzanine level at the top partially obscuring the lower, smaller level. The bookshelves are made of a light wood that seems to shine, topped with gold crests and scenes of boats and animals and people. He peers past the mezzanine and down to the tiled floor below, gleaming white with a swirling patter made in tiles of Restfeld green. Light floods in from massive windows that take up the height of each floor, and further light is let in from circular windows in the Domed roof, but no rain from the storm is coming through, protected as they are by the glass window panes. Blaine has never been anywhere outside of Alaria with so much glass, being something that is only made in that country and Blaine can’t even contemplate the amount of money that must have been spent on these windows alone.

Blaine takes a moment to take in the sight of Kurt, reading his book in front of the blazing fire, especially at the lack of a formal tunic in favour of a plain shirt cinched in with a braided belt. He wonders how Kurt’s shoulders can look so broad and yet his waist so small, masculine but also seemingly delicate, and look so in control doing something as simple as reading a book.

Kurt looks up from his reading, smiling when he sees Blaine hovering nearby.

“What are you reading?”

Kurt closes the book to show Blaine the cover. “Royal Weddings” Blaine reads, missing out the first half of the title, as it contains a word he can’t read.

Kurt nods slowly. “Foxe’s Compendium of Royal Weddings” he corrects, turning back to the page he was on. “I will not be outdone” Kurt clarifies “Ours is to be the grandest and most beautiful wedding ever recorded, and Mr Foxe will have to write another compendium to contain it.”

Blaine laughs “I look forward to reading it” and is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you like the library? It’s one of the oldest rooms in the castle.” Kurt would be lying if he wasn’t nervous about Blaine’s answer. Although these apartments had been completely renovated, this room had been left untouched, a room virtually unknown about beyond the royal family.

“It’s beautiful,” says Blaine honestly, looking at the painted ceiling and the figures painted there. “What is the fresco of?”

Kurt smiles knowingly. “It’s an old story, about a thousand years ago the King had three sons, the youngest of which, Dareon, was vain and arrogant, although it was said he was the handsomest man in the six kingdoms. He travelled everywhere to find the most beautiful men for his harem,” Kurt indicates the many men on the ceiling, half naked bodies artfully arranged around the windows in the Dome. They would have embarrassed Kurt once upon a time, who used to find shame in looking at such designs, eyes lingering on the expanse of the chests and the finely tuned muscles and in some ways it seems a cruel joke for someone as determined as he is to end the practice altogether. “He quickly became the envy of the kingdom, and his brother turned on him, jealous of being outshone. The Prince was so arrogant however that when the time to fight against his brother came they rode out to face him and the brother slew every man, including Dareon.” Kurt finishes, pointing to the figure of Dareon in a chariot, a crown perched precariously on his head.

“Is the tale supposed to serve a purpose?” asks Blaine.

“Yes and no; it is just history after all, although it was always told to me as a tale of the price of arrogance.” Kurt turns away from the painting of his ancestor. “Anyway, I thought we’d go for a walk, in the gardens.”

Blaine nods his assent, “That would be nice.”

The trip round the gardens gets delayed until after lunch, Blaine wrapped in the same cloak he’d worn at the market, the gravel crunching under their feet as they go. The gardens are a seemingly never-ending patchwork of immaculately manicured flower beds, separated into smaller gardens by red brick walls and tall conifers. Kurt shows him the pergola set against the castle wall, trailing vines and bright blooms.

Kurt goes over to the trellis, looking closely at a closed bud. He holds his palm over it and as Blaine watches, the bud blooms, a bright blue flower emerging. Kurt smiles in satisfaction, admiring the deep blue petals. “Plant magic,” he tells Blaine a little redundantly, “It’s the most developed kind of magic we have and a speciality of the Mage’s guild.”

Blaine nods, running a finger across one blue petal in fascination. The pergola stands at the start of the biggest garden, a sundial stands at the centre of the gravel path just off it, separating into different stony avenues along different flowerbeds, past the symmetrical topiary and down to where the grass grows wild. To their left is a walled herb and vegetable garden, where two wizened septas are harvesting cabbage. They bow as they pass, heading through the courtyard where the soldiers practice at their skills and to the stables, a long wooden building at the practice ground’s edge.

“You know I went to go speak to the trader at the market the other day?” Kurt says, and Blaine frowns at the memory. “This is what I went to go talk about,” Kurt continues, opening the half door to the stables and gesturing Blaine inside. A boy, about twelve or thirteen stands up as soon as he notices them.

“Has Phineas delivered a horse today?” Kurt asks the boy, who responds by nodding and taking them down the stable until they stop outside a stall containing a sleek black palfrey.

“Well? Do you like him?” asks Kurt impatiently.

Blaine looks at Kurt and then back at the horse, “It’s mine?”

“Who else is it for? Though only if you like him. I saw him ridden at the traders, but the final decision is up to you of course.”

Blaine replies by thanking him profusely, in a way that is sincere but also completely over-excited.

“Though I must confess the idea was not entirely mine, Lady Smythe was the one who suggested it, but I was the one to chose him.” Kurt can’t help but add the last bit; he’d seen the traders selection of midnight black horses and thought of Blaine immediately.

Blaine doesn’t hesitate to venture further into the stall, taking some proffered apple slices from the stable boy. He strokes the horse’s shoulder gently, bringing a hand up to let the horse sniff at it before offering some of the apple.

“Can I ride him now?” Blaine asks, eyes bright and happy, still petting the horse’s shoulder.

Kurt holds in a laugh at Blaine’s eager tone. “Of course, how else will you make your decision? Should I leave you to it?”

“Can you stay? It would be good to have a second opinion,” says Blaine evenly, especially considering his excitement not a minute ago. Kurt agrees, even though he thinks Blaine will be a much more able horseman than he is himself, thinking as he does that there are much better uses of his time than hunting an orb of light around the forest for hours, even though he likes the spectacle and dress associated with the event. Blaine does prove a much more capable horseman, putting the horse through its paces in a considered manner, walking and then trotting around the yard with a form that his tutors would envy.

Blaine gushes about his new present all the way from the stable to their chambers, puzzling over names and opportunities to take the palfrey out into the surrounding countryside. Blaine is still talking about the black horse at dinner, only quieting when Kurt tells him that tomorrow is their first day of royal business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part B to follow shortly.


	6. Chapter 4b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I have written smut.Thanks to [Matt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandterriblematt/pseuds/thegreatandterriblematt/) for the beta and for putting up with me wanting to discuss how breeches unlace! This will probably be the last time this is updated in a little while, as detailed [here](http://signalstoradar.tumblr.com/post/57708613767/hi-guys-i-thought-id-give-you-a-bit-of-an-update/).

Kurt wakes Blaine as soon as the clock chimes five the next morning, waking him with a gentle shake and kiss to the forehead, watching as he opens his eyes blearily. For the next hour, Kurt oversees his Submissive perform a variety of tasks at breakneck speed; setting Kurt’s food out on his tray; eating his own porridge; feeding Pav; and making sure the room is tidy for the council appointments later, all before asking Kurt if he could go ride his new horse, and rushing out the door with an extra piece of toast stuffed hurriedly into his mouth.

Kurt watches hurricane Blaine leave with a fond smile, which promptly disappears when he sees the pile of documents that have been deposited on his desk. That’s why he doesn’t hear the knock on his door three and a half hours later, until Blaine pops his head round the door, bearing tea on a tray.

“What do you think about this?” Kurt asks absently, eyes trained on the table plan for the wedding feast.

Blaine scrutinises it, humming softly in consideration.

“I wouldn’t put little Isabella near Jessica Duval,” says Blaine, pointing to a square table on the parchment.

Kurt looks up distractedly. “No? Why not? I thought Jess and Sebastian’s sister were of an age?”

“They are, but they are likely to pull each other’s hair out if they’re within range,” Blaine says with a chuckle. Kurt moves the counter labelled ‘Isabella Smythe Jr” two steps to the left.

“Much better.” Blaine smiles, thinking of the rambunctious sixteen year-old who’d waved them goodbye from the roof of a cattle shed.

“You may as well help me with this,” says Kurt wryly, “since it’s going to be your job to deal with these people.”

Kurt explains who each family is, who their allies and enemies are, and members of the family he is most likely to come into contact with. He shows Blaine their places on the seating plan, going over his reasons for putting each house where they are. Kurt has been doing this for years; organising and hosting court events is something Kurt is famed for, but it feels nice having someone to share it with, someone who sees what happens behind the scenes. They get to a particularly awkward seating arrangement; David’s family are seated next to the Lord and Lady of House Keston, with whom they had once had a blood feud and relations were not quite healed.

“Why don’t we put the Claringtons in between Lady and Lady Thompson and those from House Keston?” Blaine suggests, moving the little counters.

“Why the Clarington’s?”

Blaine smiles genially, “Because Lord Clarington is looking for a bond-mate for Hunter…”

“Celia of House Keston, yes!” rushes Kurt, moving the little counters bearing the names Hunter Clarington and Celia Keston next to each other. “Are you trying to play matchmaker, Blaine Anderson?” Kurt teases.

“No, I just thought Lord and Lady Clarington would appreciate being sat next to someone who has several daughters that are of age, and of course David is the same age as Hunter. Friendship with the Thompsons would give them allies outside of the three isles.” Blaine explains.

Kurt smiles, adjusting the counters and heaving a sigh of relief. “There.” Kurt exhales, “One more thing done, only a few more tasks left to do. On that note, I need to buy a present for Sebastian.”

“For Sebastian, sir?”

Kurt turns over yet another piece of parchment. “Yes, it’s tradition. Will you help me? I’m not sure what to buy him.”

“Of course, did you have any ideas?”

“I was thinking that it should be special but practical, something he’ll use every day.” Kurt muses. He wishes Sebastian was as easy to shop for as Blaine, whose present was tucked away in a coffer in his bedroom.

Blaine stops to consider for a moment. “Like a paperweight, or a letter opener? Or a sword?”

“Won’t he already have a sword?”

“He does have one yes, but it’s more of a ceremonial sword, it would be easy to get him something that looks unique but is useful.” Blaine thinks aloud.

“Blaine, that is a fantastic idea,” Kurt gushes, making a small note of something on a scrap of parchment.

“Happy I could help, Sir” says Blaine in his courtly manner, and Kurt wonders how a Submissive as polite as Blaine got bonded to someone as rude as Sebastian.

It is ten o’clock before they receive their first visitor, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, Kurt sneaks into the first meeting room and presses his ear against the door to the waiting room, where Blaine is greeting a crop mage who has come to discuss harvest plans with Kurt. The waiting room had four meeting rooms off of it, each designed for men of different status and occupation.

“If you’d come this way, my Lord Mage, His Royal Highness will be with you shortly.” Blaine leads the man into the second chamber, for the Septons and Septas and the Mages, bidding him to relax into one of the chairs which lined its edge. “Can I get you anything while you wait, My Lord, we have a large selection of refreshments.”

“No thank you,” says the man firmly, “just your master, if you could.”

“Of course,” says Blaine, unabashed at the man’s rudeness, going to the door that led from the waiting rooms into the audience chamber, and then through to Kurt’s office.

Kurt’s office. Where Kurt was supposed to be right now. Kurt all but runs from his hiding place, going to the library door on the pretence of getting a book.

“Harvestman Crew is here Sir; he has come to discuss the crop plans before he departs for the north next week.” Blaine explains, perfectly relaying the message.

“Thank you, Blaine, and remember it’s perfectly okay if something goes wrong today, it is your first day after all.” Blaine smiles at Kurt when he says that, all the while promising himself that he’ll get it right first time.

The meetings go on for most of the day, and while it is perfectly routine for Kurt, it’s frazzling for poor Blaine, who has to hear the gripes and complaints of three noblemen, each of whom thinks he should be the first to see Kurt. At noon Lord Jacklin and Lord Cendarion (who Kurt always calls Red and Green, much to Blaine’s amusement) come for a meeting in the audience chamber, and Lord Jacklin hangs back afterwards, drinking his tea and eating small-cakes with Blaine, while none-too subtly asking after his health.

“His Royal Highness is looking the happiest I have seen him in an age,” Green confides, picking the cherries from his cake.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Blaine, looking toward the shadowy figure of Kurt hunched over his desk in his office.

Green smiles indulgently, “It seems like you are doing the world of good for him. How were your lessons this morning?”

Blaine pauses, before realising it is Green’s duty to be informed of these things, and that his tutoring has probably been discussed in great length without his knowledge. “They go well, we’re learning history!”

Jacklin thinks this enthusiasm is endearing, seeing himself in the young boy, for whom the opportunity for learning is more than just mere duty. “I hear I am to teach you about our great Kingdom shortly, let’s hope you are a better pupil than your Dominant.” Green raises his voice on the last sentence, so it carries into the room where Kurt is sitting.

“I heard that!” Kurt jokes. They both bid farewell to Jacklin from the library door. Blaine finds himself fond of the older man, despite the fact he has picked cherries of all of Blaine’s small-cakes.

The separation of the lower floor, designed purely for their daily duties, means that the privacy of their upstairs apartments feels heavenly after a long day of appointments and politics. Blaine sits at the dining table, surrounded by his homework, while Kurt retreats to his bedroom, feeling unable to share the wedding planning with Blaine, who is already burdened with his studies and the steep learning curve of court life.

Blaine knocks on the door just as Kurt has changed into his nightshirt and settled himself into bed. “I was wondering if I….” he starts, coming into the room and stopping when he sees Kurt isn’t in his usual chair. “Oh, you’re in bed, I’ll just…”

“It’s okay, I’m not going to bed just yet, I was going to read for a while,” Kurt says, setting his book down.

“You…had the bath last,” Blaine hesitates, gesturing to the metal tub that is by Kurt’s fireplace.

“Oh,” whispers Kurt. “The servants will be gone by now, I’m sure my father won’t mind me getting the water by magic just this once,” Kurt tells Blaine conspiratorially, waiting for Blaine to move the tub into the sitting room.

Blaine sets his towel down, unbuttoning the buttons of his tunic to reveal the shirt underneath. Kurt sits stunned, watching as Blaine grabs his shirt from behind his neck, pulling it off in one smooth move.

“Err, Blaine?”

Blaine turns to Kurt, as if it is normal to get undressed in front of someone you have only known for a week.

“What are you doing?” says Kurt, amusedly.

Blaine continues to look confused. “Having a bath?”

“Is it normal in Estaria to bathe in front of other people?”

Blaine’s head shoots up from where he has been unlacing the strings of his breeches. “Yes? Is this not the custom here?”

“No it is not!” says Kurt indignantly, somewhere between embarrassed and amused.

“Do you want me to take the bath into the other room?”

“No, I was surprised, that’s all,” admits Kurt. He raises his hands and after a minute a stream of water floats into the room at about waist height, wiggling like a worm until it collects itself into a sphere over the bath. Kurt lowers his arms and the water loses its shape and sploshes into the tub with an audible sound while Blaine looks on in rapt fascination.

“That. Is. Amazing” Blaine gushes, looking back to Kurt and then turning back again to the bath and the steam coming off the water. He finally shucks his breeches and socks, and dips a cautious toe into the metal bath and finding the temperature satisfactory he gets in, leaning back against the slanted back.

When Blaine is finally settled in the bath, Kurt allows himself to look, to really look, at his submissive’s broad shoulders, his solid arms with the finely honed muscle, skin tanned from hours in the sun, probably spent working in the shipyards back in Estaria. Kurt tries to go back to his book and ignore the very naked man in his bathtub, who is currently washing himself with the soap made with honey from the castle hives. Blaine gets to washing his hair and Kurt abandons his book completely, going over to his submissive and taking the pot of hair ointment from the floor. He scoops some of the mixture out, and Blaine startles when he starts to apply it into the mess of black curls.

“I’ve got you,” Kurt reassures his sub. Massaging the sticky mixture into Blaine’s hair is oddly soothing, something so simple after his busy day spent attending to the worries and concerns of what will one day be his kingdom.

“Close your eyes,” Kurt instructs, pouring the small jug of water over Blaine’s head to wash away the ointment. “Stay still, you!” laughs Kurt when Blaine fidgets, making the water miss most of his head. “There, you’ll do, out of the bath with you, don’t pretend I can’t see your eyes closing.”

Kurt holds out the big fluffy towel just as Blaine rises out of the bath, wrapping him in it and using the two top corners to rub Blaine’s cheeks dry. Blaine looks so young with water drpping from his curls, his long eyelashes clumped together, clutching at his towel like a lifeline.

“Step out then,” Kurt says, without fuss. The two men sit on Kurt’s bed, Kurt vigorously rubbing Blaine’s hair dry and batting away Blaine’s hands when he tries to do it himself. It is one floating nightshirt later, when Blaine is dressed for sleep, that Kurt says something he doesn’t expect. “Stay,” Kurt blurts, unaware what has made him say it, apart from a feeling that he doesn’t want to see Blaine go back to his own bedroom.

There is a heavy silence, then Kurt places his hand on Blaine’s forearm, trying desperately to reinforce what he has just said without having to repeat it. Blaine’s right fingers twitch, before joining Kurt’s hand on his arm, Blaine smiling nervously.

Kurt settles back under the covers, picking his book up again in an attempt to appear relaxed, but Blaine joins him without hesitancy, occupying the other side of the large bed, trying to sneak glances at Kurt reading.

Kurt looks up from Foxe’s Compendium of Weddings. “Here, look at this.” Kurt holds the book up to show Blaine the fine illustration of the wedding feast of his great-grandfather, Prince Burt the first.

Blaine moves closer, getting so near to Kurt he can feel Blaine’s body heat, leaning right over his shoulder to look at the double page picture. “What are the men doing?”

“Prince Burt appointed the young men of the court to dress in red and give a red rose to all the women of the court,” Kurt explains.

“He was a romantic then?” Blaine smiles, he thinks it is a lovely gesture.

Kurt turns his head to look at Blaine. “Indeed,” he confirms, wrapping his left arm around Blaine’s side where he’s still looking at the picture. Blaine looks up at his Dominant’s face, resting his head on Kurts check, taking the opportunity to nestle into him.

“Are you ready?” Kurt asks.

Blaine makes a sleepy questioning noise.

“To turn the page?”

Blaine yawns. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

They spend a little while looking at the pictures in the compendium, Kurt reading out interesting passages, until their eyes become too heavy and the words blur and dance on the page. Nestling down, Kurt uses the counter-charm to dim the light orb which had been illuminating his room.

“Night Blaine,” Kurt says, a little apprehensively, drawing the covers up to his shoulders to ward against the winter cold.

“Goodnight Kurt, may the Mother keep you,” Blaine yawns again, eyes slipping shut, falling asleep instantly.

*****

The next morning does not bring a reprise in the weather, Kurt wakes up to storm clouds gathering outside, the rain loud on the faux-glass pane. The maelstrom outside has not woken Blaine, though, who lies on his back an arm flung to one side and mouth wide open. Kurt lowers his feet to the freezing tile and pads across to his wardrobe, surveying its contents.

“Kurt?”

Kurt turns back round to see Blaine sitting up in bed, hair truly mussed and nightshirt laces loose, revealing more skin, like a promise.

“It’s okay, Blaine, go and wash up and then come wait for me, I’ll lay some clothes out for you,” Kurt instructs calmly, turning back to his wardrobe.

Kurt is standing in his underclothes when Blaine returns with a freshly washed face, coming to kneel at the foot of the bed nearest Kurt’s wardrobe. Kurt replays his earlier words in his head, ‘come wait for me’ he had said, not even noticing what connotations it might have for Blaine. Stupid, he thinks, he’s always been taught that Dominants should watch what they say, and there he goes just saying anything. Blaine’s back is ramrod straight, and he must be sat on his feet because his thighs are spread wide to the corners of the room, different to the standard position taken up by subs in Restfeld but no less satisfying? Subservient? Respectful? Kurt batsaway any attempt to describe it, dressing quickly and laying out clothes for Blaine on the bed from those they’d chosen that day in the market. He coaxes Blaine into action with a squeeze to his shoulder and he makes a beeline for Kurt’s clothing pole lifting the cloak off of it and draping it over his Dominant’s shoulders. Blaine stares at their reflections in the full length mirror, at his own face from behind Kurt’s shoulder, as he arranges the garment artfully. Kurt’s expression is serious, his eyes narrowed, hawk-like and focused, surveying the picture the pair make even as Blaine comes to secure the cloak’s fastening at his neck.

Blaine hurries off for the high tower quickly after, for his first lesson with Lord Jacklin, agreeing that he can go to the music room afterwards while Kurt is in his meeting with his father. Kurt’s day goes as well as he can expect; there is the small matter of appointing a new high mage that he is wilfully putting off, but the rest of the documents that clutter his desk are pretty standard, until he finds the small slip of parchment underneath a fascinating missive about turnip yields in the north.

Friday: Lord Sebastian was delivered three books from the Great Library, two works of fiction and a book on Sept building, was shown the gardens by Nick, had dinner with he and Jeff.

Kurt sighs heavily. Custom dictated that Sebastian was kept as far away from Blaine as possible, to avoid influencing his relationship with his new Dominant, but he could only imagine how boring it must be to be kept to one set of rooms for two weeks, having to ask for everything and anything he wanted. He discards the note on the pile of others like it and pushes away from his desk. Only five days left, he tells himself.

Kurt goes to check on Blaine as promised about an hour and a half later. Navigating the halls of the castle is a weird experience; he’s so used to approaching the music room from his childhood apartments that this route seems entirely alien, his mind finding them unfamiliar like a kaleidoscope that has turned once too far. The door to the room is slightly ajar and Kurt peers through it cautiously. Blaine is sat at the harpsichord, Kurt’s sixteenth birthday present, testing a melody with his right hand and humming. He watches, transfixed, as Blaine starts anew, both hands picking out the intertwining lines of a ballad. It isn’t until Blaine starts singing, with a voice that shows confidence and training that Kurt found his feet moving without his permission.

“You have a lovely voice,” Kurt surprises himself by saying, and Blaine whirls round, causing a key to plonk discordantly, echoing in the large room. “Can I sit?” Kurt gestures to the stool Blaine is sat on and Blaine dutifully shifts along to accommodate Kurt. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, much,” replies Blaine “It helps…playing, I mean, I sit down to play and I don’t have to think about anything else.”

“Have you been playing long?”

Blaine beams. “Since I was a small child, I used to sit in the great hall with my parents and play with them, then the Septon in the orphanage, and then with Sebastian’s mother.”

Blaine looks Kurt, then begins to play, a fast paced court dance that requires dexterity and incredible skill. Kurt watches Blaine’s right hand, picking up most of the right hand melody before attempting it in time with Blaine higher up the keyboard. It isn’t twenty seconds before Kurt goes wrong, eliciting a laugh from Blaine.

“Watch it you, we can’t all be virtuosos!” Kurt laughs and he registers that Blaine’s smile has a relaxed quality that he hasn’t seen before. Kurt tries the quick succession of notes again, fingers fumbling two accidentals, and he screws his face up in concentration.

“Here, like this,” Blaine offers, demonstrating the phrase again and waiting for Kurt to copy, which he does, his Sub smiling when he gets it right. Their fingers brush when their hands cross over, and Kurt can feel the heat of Blaine’s body from where their sides are crushed together. Something flares up, a quick surge of heat that makes sure its presence is known before settling, a low lying hum that is as much exciting as it is unnerving.

******

Blaine’s fingers continue to rest on the keys long after the echo of the last note, he doesn’t feel ready to stop playing just yet, doesn’t want to leave the sanctuary of this room. He stares down at the harspicord keys absently.

“You play and sing beautifully, Blaine” Kurt tells him, placing his hand over one of Blaine’s that is still on the keyboard.

He stares at the keyboard even more intently. “Thank you” Blaine replies quietly. The hand moves from his to Blaine’s chin, tilting it up so he is looking his Dom in the eyes.

“Truly, Blaine, you have a talent,” states Kurt, “The feast of the Stranger is at the end of the month, you should play.”

Blaine smiles, trying to look down into his lap but he can’t, Kurt’s hand an ever present pressure on his chin. “I couldn’t do that, I’m not good with the harpsichord; I play the lute a lot better.”

Kurt’s eyes flash for a moment before softening, “Don’t put yourself down, Blaine, you play amazingly and I was so proud of you this morning, choosing to go with Wes and David, and Wes told me how hard you worked.”

Blaine basks in the praise. Sebastian praises him, of course, but not in this way; it is always about his submission rather than Blaine’s abilities as a person, and it feels inescapably good to be admired for something he takes so much pride in, that was such a big part of what he remembers of his parents.

“You’ve been so good for me Blaine,” Kurt whispers reverently, and closes the gap between them. It is a welcome action and Blaine’s eyes flutter closed before he feels the first brush of Kurt’s lips on his, soft and sure, a promise. Much to Blaine’s disappointment, it is over after the briefest of seconds and he opens his eyes slowly to see Kurt looking at him expectantly, hand gone from his chin. Kurt rushes forward to place a kiss on Blaine’s forehead which Blaine leans into, lowering his head to meet Kurt’s lips. It feels right, his head bowed, receiving a token of his Doms affection, an absent hand carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. They straighten up and apart again. Blaine’s hands are still resting on the harpsichord keys, and he starts an easy child’s song that Kurt is sure to know. Kurt doesn’t take much coaxing to join in, his face lights up and he relaxes completely. Kurt finds the refrain of the song much trickier and Kurt leans back to let Blaine take over, finishing the song with a flourish.

“I’m never going to play as well as you,” Kurt laughs good naturedly.

Blaine beams back “We should practice.”

“I thought we were,” says Kurt breathily, leaning in.

He’s going to kiss me, Blaine thinks and it is a kiss unlike any other Blaine has ever experienced. It is not a prelude to sex, and while it asserts Kurt’s status as his Dominant, it is not given purely for that purpose; it is passionate, and full of possibility.

Kurt draws away, breathing heavily. “One more before we go back?”

Blaine leans in this time, but stops when Kurt chuckles. “I meant a song, Blaine, though I’m not averse to the kissing either.”

There is a slight tentativeness in Kurt’s voice. Blaine is reminded with a thump that Kurt has never been allowed to court anyone before, Wes has made it clear to him that the harem is a matter of duty, that unlike many of his predecessors, no especially romantic ties have been formed with its occupants. Although Kurt is older than him, Blaine guesses he has been more sheltered, seeing other Doms with their submissives, rather than meeting them.

“I could play the lute for you, if you’d like?” Blaine all but runs to a shelf where a lute lies discarded on top of an illuminated folio of music. He tunes it as quickly as he can, eager to show Kurt how well he can play. The folio is set on the stand on the harpsichord, Blaine flips it open to a piece with a notated singing part and settles himself back on the stool beside his Dominant. The piece is a little too ambitious, though Blaine would never admit it, playing through the first lines with only a few stumbles, leading into the first verse with renewed confidence. That is, until Kurt starts to sing. Trying hard to play and listen, Blaine fumbles a few notes but Kurt carries on singing, even as the high notes of the verse morph into the middle range of the chorus, his voice clear and seemingly effortless.

The last held note of the song can still be heard when Kurt rushes forward, causing Blaine to lean back precariously. The frenzy of the sudden kiss changes into something different entirely, softer and sweeter and all encompassing, reinforced by the angle at which Blaine is leaning back, and the way Kurt’s hand is splayed on his hip, thumb on bare skin. Later, Blaine will have no idea how long they stayed there, trading kisses by the harpsichord, hands migrating from fabric to skin. A sudden thump in the next room causes them to stop abruptly. Kurt takes in the sight of Blaine’s swollen lips, and the way his tunic is all but hanging off one shoulder as its laces have come loose. The thump becomes fast paced footsteps which recede down the corridor outside, and then Kurt starts to laugh, huffs of breath that speak of surprise as well as relief.

“We should go,” he says, breathlessly.

They get up from the stool and Kurt pokes his head around the door, seeing no-one he all put pulls Blaine by the hand into the deserted corridor. Kurt’s grip on Blaine slackens when he is reassured they won’t be discovered and he brings their joined hands to his lips, giving the back of Blaine’s hand the merest peck before continuing onto their rooms. Their sitting room is such a welcome sight, and once the door to the come-and-go-room swings shut, Kurt wastes no time in picking up Blaine’s other hand and intertwining their fingers so intertwining their fingers, then pulling Blaine so they are standing face to face. Blaine can see the cogs turning in Kurt’s head, though he doesn’t know what Kurt is thinking about so intently. Although Kurt is the one to kiss him, Blaine detects, well, hesitance, from his Dominant. Hesitance that seems to be pushed aside when Blaine kisses back, but the kiss still does not turn ravenous or heated, a soft pressure instead of being a matter of taking.

Even when he and Sebastian first slept together there had been no hesitance, Sebastian had slept with plenty of other subs before Blaine, but Kurt is making it clear he is not to be rushed, every movement made at a conscious and deliberate pace that Blaine couldn’t have speed up even if he tried. Not that he wants to, of course. Kurt’s warm hand has moved to his hip, mirroring its hold from earlier, before moving higher, causing the loose shirt Kurt dressed him in to ruck up. They somehow make it into Kurt’s bedroom, Kurt moving to sit on the edge of his bed, and Blaine feels the pull to go down on his knees and kneel between Kurt’s legs, where he inexplicably knows he belongs. But instead, Kurt leads him on further, down onto the mattress, and Blaine makes the compromise of kneeling up on it, staying still as Kurt moves closer, kissing him with none of his earlier hesitancy, until Blaine loses his balance and falls onto the bed a little gracelessly.

Kurt smiles at this, huffing out a small laugh that belies his nerves as he goes to connect their mouths again. Blaine feels so aware; the down mattress beneath him soft and luxurious, the way his body seems to sink into it, the only sounds in the room the quiet intake and expulsion of air. Time seems to go very slowly. Kurt hovers above him, his presence filling the whole of Blaine’s vision, so close that he doesn’t really notice when Kurt moves one hand above his head, kissing his forehead as he moves down to pick up the left and repeating the action. Blaine’s wrists pinning it firmly in his grip. Kurt kisses Blaine’s forehead, and then his cheek, moving until his mouth is hovering just above Blaine’s ear.

“You made me so proud yesterday, Blaine,” his mouth darts down to kiss the skin just underneath Blaine’s ear. “I was so proud with the way you dealt with all those people, so proud that you’re my sub.”

Blaine’s eyes, which had slid shut, fly open at his Dominant’s statement. Kurt’s eyes are dark with desire, but any doubt as to the earnestness of his words is further belied by the way Kurt’s lips are trailing down Blaine’s neck, and the way Blaine’s hands are pressed down into the bed.

“Don’t think I haven’t been hearing about how well your lessons are going,” Kurt says almost challengingly; it’s a subject he and his sub haven’t talked about. “You’ve been such a good boy,” Kurt teases “I think you deserve a reward.”

“Yes, please - please sir, I’m a good boy - your good boy,” Blaine says, in a rush that only stops when he is kissed again.

Kurt leans up and away for a moment, fixing Blaine with another one of those serious stares. “You have to promise me you’ll safeword if you need to. Can you repeat the word, your word, for me?”

“Kingfisher,” Blaine says clearly and Kurt smiles in response.

“I think I promised a reward, did I not?” Kurt goes back to sucking at the skin of his sub’s neck, doing his hardest to ignore the fading bruise underneath the thin band of leather he’d spent so long picking out. How dare he, Kurt thinks, feeling a surge of anger that is completely foreign to him. How dare Sebastian leave such a visible mark, one that he knew I’d see every time I look at my own sub’s collar. He fleetingly wonders if Sebastian did it to aggravate him on purpose, or whether it is purely for Blaine’s sake, but pushes the thought out of his mind. Tonight is not about Sebastian, after all.

Kurt moves down from Blaine’s neck, not wanting to stew over the bruise any longer, which forces him to let go of Blaine’s wrists. “Keep them there,” he orders, trailing kisses from the palm of Blaine’s hand to his wrist where his cuff lies, and further up still, pressing more into the crease of Blaine’s elbow, peppering his shoulders with them.

“Please,” Blaine says, but his voice cracks, turning into a whine when Kurt lingers at Blaine’s nipple.

“Shhhhh, beautiful, I got you,” Kurt skims his mouth over Blaine’s sides, lips turning up even more when it elicits something from Blaine that sounds like a giggle. “Ticklish are we?”

“No!” Blaine teases back.

Kurt laughs, stealing a quick peck on the lips, while he tickles Blaine’s sides mercilessly, “I think you are.”

Kurt continues tickling until Blaine is writhing, trying to avoid Kurt’s touch, laughing adorably through his nose. “Sit up,” instructs Kurt, insuring Blaine’s hands are in the air before he divests his sub of his shirt, raising a hand and making the garment fold itself before coming to rest on a chair. Kurt removes his own shirt, trying not to feel self-conscious. Blaine’s eyes sweep over Kurt’s chest and shoulders, and he thinks that he resembles the beautiful figures on the ceiling of the library, his skin just as unblemished.

Blaine lies back down, repositioning his hands above his head where his Dom put them, and Kurt eagerly follows, nuzzling at his ear before moving down Blaine’s body again, to where the smooth skin of Blaine’s midriff, with its trail of dark, fine hair, meets the top of his breeches, and kisses it lightly. Blaine is warm, he smells of the lavender oil and honey soap he’d used with his bath yesterday, and from Kurt’s vantage point halfway down the bed he can see how Blaine’s chest rises and falls rapidly in anticipation, and the way his eyes have slipped shut again, long eyelashes splayed across his cheeks.

The lace of Blaine’s breeches has already come undone, though Kurt has to loosen it further in order to pull the tight fitting trousers off, along with his socks. He kisses Blaine again; he can’t stop connecting their mouths, something about it is addictive, especially in the way Blaine responds so hungrily to the slightest variation or movement when the kiss deepens.

Kurt goes to lower his body over Blaine’s, easing the strain on the arm he is using to hold him up, when an image strikes unbidden. It’s blurry around the edges: he can see the crumpled sheets, and the boy below him is rambling, but Kurt only catches every other word. The vision seems totally foreign to him, he’s seeing out of his own eyes but he does not recognise the memory, nor the way the boy is begging, telling him how good it feels to have Kurt’s body against his. It’s so cruel that this is not the first time he has done this, but this is the first time he has done it with an uncluttered mind, the first time he can connect the experience to sights, sounds, and smells, the first time he has felt nervous.

Kurt is so consumed by the images that he doesn’t notice when Blaine moans, loud and unrestrained, seeming to sink still further into the mattress. He feels a surge of relief, starting in his chest, where he feels the pressure from Kurt’s body the most, falling into the deepest state of relaxation he has felt in years. Blaine sinks, his mind unravels, the only thing he is aware of is Kurt, and when his Dom brushes the curls from his forehead he doesn’t feel it. The fact he is completely naked and Kurt isn’t seems unshakeably right, although torturous.

It’s then that Blaine feels Kurt’s cock for the first time, and he has never wanted to touch someone more, Blaine thinks guiltily.

“Can I,” Blaine exhales “Can I suck you?”

Kurt’s brows knit together. “This was going to be your reward,” he says, but the statement sounds more like a question.

“Please,” Blaine begs, totally unashamed. “Please, Sir.”

Kurt sits up and takes off his breeches, with none of the hesitancy he would have displayed if he hadn’t have been thinking about how much he wants this, so much, in fact, that his clothes land in a crumpled heap at his bedside instead of joining Blaine’s on the chair. His hesitancy comes back though, when he is standing by the bed, unsure of what to do, will Blaine turn over?

“Kurt, Sir, please,” Blaine repeats, unthinkingly reaching out a hand, which Kurt takes, moving back onto the bed, by Blaine’s waist. Blaine freezes, realising he has moved his hand, and puts it back where Kurt directed at double speed, his face falling.

Kurt brushes the hair out of his eyes again, murmuring platitudes until Blaine has relaxed once more, then instructs him to put his hands down again, kissing the one nearest to him, as it comes to rest at Blaine’s side. Blaine whimpers what sounds like another please, but the word comes out garbled and desperate.

Kurt moves closer, and Blaine strains up, as much as he can with Kurt’s body weight holding him down, his mouth now mere inches from Kurt’s cock. Blaine doesn’t hesitate before taking it into his mouth, suckling just the head and the pre-come he can taste there, redoubling his efforts when he hears the first blissful moan it draws from Kurt, long and ragged. Kurt jerks instinctively into Blaine’s mouth, so Blaine has no choice but to take more, revelling in the taking, and the weight in his mouth, on his tongue. Blaine’s hand slides down Kurt’s back, to his back meets the curve of his ass, coaxing more of Kurt into his mouth.

Blaine is forced to pull off away, drawing in deep lungfuls of breath and rubbing discreetly at the painful crick in his neck. Kurt isn’t fooled for a second, craning his head to see where Blaine is rubbing his neck. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine reassures him, but Kurt has already sat up and away, allowing Blaine to take his first full view of his Dom’s long body. Noticing that Kurt is sat near the edge of the bed, Blaine hastens to kneel against the cold tiles, his kneecaps connecting to the floor with two points of pain that he disregards immediately, leaning forward to put his mouth to the nearest piece of Kurt he can reach, and laving attention on it. Kurt turns, of course, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and reaches unthinkingly for Blaine’s head and its mass of curls, carding his hands through it the way he had earlier, when they had sat together at the harpsichord.

“Blaine,” Kurt moans, in what Blaine takes to be a benediction, better than any good boy he has ever received, and it only spurs him on, bobbing slowly and then speeding up, until Kurt’s moans run into each other, forming one unbroken sound, until Kurt has to pull back. He’s so close he feels almost dizzy, and fuck, it is better than the dull thrum he associates with coming during his sickness, aware as he is of his Sub’s proximity. Blaine follows forward as Kurt comes, and Kurt immediately raises a hand to charm it away, but Blaine keeps licking until every drop is gone.

It’s then that Kurt sees the drops of come on his Sub’s cheeks and on his chin. Kurt exhales heavily, and pulls Blaine up so he is sitting on one of Kurt’s thighs, turning his face so they can kiss. Kurt puts his hand to Blaine’s cheek so he can control the kiss, smearing a streak of pearly white come as he does so. His other hand is hugging Blaine’s waist, keeping him steady as he manoeuvres Blaine closer, until Kurt falls purposely on his back and takes Blaine down with him. Before Blaine can move, Kurt curls himself around his Sub’s back, wasting no time in wrapping a hand around Blaine’s dick, ordering him to come before he knows the words are out of his mouth. Blaine’s whimpers don’t stop until he is entirely spent and lazing back on the mattress.

Kurt clears him up first with the dispersement charm, but is quick to summon a glass of water next and coax Blaine into drinking it slowly, wrapping him in the warm coverlet and cuddling him as close to his chest as possible. “You’re so good Blaine, so proud that you’re mine, can’t believe how lucky I am.” Kurt’s breath ghosts over Blaine’s earlobe as he comes down, feeling safe and sated, and surrounded by his Dominant, who continues to praise him in quiet murmurs, catching words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘perfect’ every so often before he surrenders to sleep.


	7. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Matt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandterriblematt/pseuds/thegreatandterriblematt/) for the beta as usual. Feedback appreciated. Extra information posts can be found under the ‘verse tag [here](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/magic-maps-and-marriage/).

When Blaine wakes on the morning of his wedding he finds the other side of the bed empty, the space his Dom has vacated still left warm. He has barely opened his eyes against the bright morning, appraising the cloudless sky, when he realises just what is wrong with the view from Kurt’s window. He hadn’t even noticed the heat, normal to him as it is, and the heavy nightgown seems too thick all of a sudden, so he pulls it over his head and leaves it in a heap by the window. Stubbornly ignoring his wedding-day nerves, he looks at the clock and decides it is far too early to be stuck in their apartments, getting steadily more and more anxious, so he gets back into bed and falls asleep again, shucking the covers against the heat.

Kurt comes back an hour and a half later, sweating through his black Mage’s robes. He never liked them in the first place and in this heat they are unbearable. Blaine is curled up on his side, completely nude, with his face pressed into his pillow, snoring lightly. There is no point getting back in bed, and besides, Kurt is far too nervous. The clock chimes the hour and Pav tweets loudly, as if the clock is another bird who will respond to his call, the noise rousing Blaine, who sits up.

“’s sunny,” Blaine says blearily.

“It is indeed,” responds Kurt. “A job well done I think,” he can’t help but add, seeing a cloud begin to form from the window and waving it away with a hand. The action has the desired effect; Blaine’s eyes go round as saucers at his display, where his father’s reaction would have been to tell him to stop showing off.

“You did that? You can control the weather? Why? How?”

“I did say we were going to have the most noteworthy wedding of the century, did I not?”

“You did,” Blaine yawns.

Going over to his sub, Kurt ruffles Blaine’s hair as he has got used to doing and Blaine leans into the touch. “Up you get beautiful,” Kurt says with a smile, to which Blaine complies immediately, accepting a peck on the lips that turns long and lingering, only stopping when there is a knock on the door.

“Put some clothes on quick!” Kurt hisses, rolling his eyes when Blaine just looks down, unashamed as always of his nudity. Blaine’s still pulling the white ceremonial robe over his head when the rap of the door sounds again and Kurt rushes to open it, revealing Wes, David, Nick, Jeff, and Lord Jacklin, who is already dressed in a fine gold and blue robe. Something about the assembled Warblers reeks of mischief, they are so eager to step over the threshold that they forget to bow, only doing so when Green diligently (and certainly not pompously) reminds them.

“Time to go, your highness,” Green tells Blaine, cheerful as ever. “Did you sleep well?”

Blaine tries not to smile as the Warblers grin fiendishly, as if they know just what happened in Kurt’s bed only the night before. “Yes I did, thank you Lord Jackin.”

Jacklin turns his squat hat over in his hands nervously until Blaine starts toward the door, throwing a backward glance to his Dom.

“Go with Jacklin, you’ll be fine,” Kurt says in the most reassuring voice he can muster. “I’ll see you there.” Before he can stop himself, Kurt strides across the room and holds Blaine by the shoulders, kissing him on the forehead. It’s all the reassurance Blaine seems to need, and with no further hesitation, he follows the councillor out of the room.

This, of course, leaves the doorway free for all the Warblers to rush into the room with noisy chatter about the sudden change in the weather. Wes is first to set the proceedings back on track, gesturing for Kurt to remove the shirt and loose trousers he’s had on under his robes, which he does with rather less trepidation than normal.

This does not go unnoticed by Jeff, who smirks, “Glad to see someone’s had a positive effect on you.”

It’s then that Jeff sees the marks on his back and all hell breaks loose, the boys start clucking like a group of hens, a trait that has sprung from living in the same quarters for years with little privacy.

“I can’t blame you,” David says thoughtfully. “Blaine is stunning, and very eager.”

Kurt whirls round and fixes David with a stare he’s seldom had to use on the other man. “This is NOT a topic for conversation, nor will it become one.”

“No sir, sorry sir,” David acquiesces immediately, recognising the Dom’s tone.

After that, the group of Warblers seem to calm, although they remain excited about the upcoming wedding, and grow even more so as they arrange the rare, embroidered cloak around his shoulders, and walk in procession ahead of him through the castle. Most of the court and all of the Guild have turned out to see him as he passes, crowding to get their first glimpses of the three men on this most auspicious of days. The Warblers look like a group of choirboys leading a Septon to his place at the altar, an image which makes Kurt snort with derision. His father greets him at the door with a smile on his face which is more knowingly cheerful than befits a monarch, clapping him on the back when Kurt gets close enough.

“What a day for it, eh son?” Burt teases, indicating the blazing sun as if it is there by some miracle and not through months of planning. Kurt tries to smile in the same unaffected way but his face falls slightly; he has never been able to keep anything from his father. “It’s okay to be nervous,” Burt reassures him.

“Were you nervous?”

Burt looks off into the distance, pensive. “Terrified,” he supplies at last, “Seeing them at the aisle, knowing I had to take care of them for the rest of my life.” His father looks at him for a minute without saying anything. “Duty is a strange thing,” Burt pauses. “You’ve been placed in this life, with its rules and regulations, and it’s meant I’ve been away from you for longer than I ever intended. Now I’m not special like you Kurt, hell I’m not even as good with the old magic as you,” Burt waves away Kurt’s protests at this, before starting again, “I know you’re going to be a good King, but first you have to step up. Duty can make a slave of you, but it can also show you how to stick at things, teach you that you shouldn’t always put yourself first. Now, if you’ve decided this isn’t what you want, we can cancel, but you won’t.”

“I won’t?” gulps Kurt, feeling all of ten years old again under the weight of his father’s gaze.

“You won’t,” repeats the King. “Because I think you care for the boy,” Burt indicates the route to the old Sept where Blaine has been taken. “And I think you want to make this work. You’re a lot like your mothers in that respect.”

“And like you, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Burt huffs out a laugh in response, clapping him on the back again, communicating ‘it’s time to go’ without so much as another word. Kurt clambers into the wooden carriage with its cloth roof, his father slamming the door to start the vehicle on its way. The automatic cart had been of Burt’s own devising, skilled as he is with motion spells, and he spends most of his time that isn’t filled with royal duties fixing and improving them in a specially created barn near the row of smithies.

They speed towards the grand sept, and they can hear the crowd cheer even if they cannot see them, the noise growing louder as they stop at their destination. Septon Remalgus receives them and leads a barefooted Kurt into a side room where he is washed; gallons of hot water poured over his head, scrubbed until he feels like a skinned, pink rabbit, shivering in naught but a towel in the great stone building. Once he has been dressed and the cloak retied, he is left alone in the Sept, which has been decorated for the ceremony, the immense circular room transformed by the swags of wildflowers hanging overhead, and the orbs fashioned like stars, which fill the dome with light.

He’s had nearly all of his life to consider what his next action will be, but despite the twenty-two years of planning he finds himself standing in front of The Builder and not The Stranger as he’d planned. He takes the small chess piece and places it in the metal plate hanging from The Builder’s fist, alongside the offerings of other worshippers, which consist of a garnet ring, a letter and a brooch of two fighting dragons. He finds the advice of his father coming back to him and finds himself admiring the chisel in The Builder’s right hand. He admires the Sept carved into the statue behind the figure of the God, and strives to build his marriage as sturdy as the Sept he is standing in.

He contemplates this down on his knees for a while, finding it a wholly uncomfortable experience, and he wonders how Blaine can stay in this position for any amount of time. Something stirs behind him, and with the advanced training of an experienced Mage, he turns round, finding a young Septa there, trailing smoke from a plate of burning lavender.

“It is auspicious that we meet today, young Mage.”

“Auspicious,” Kurt repeats dumbly. The Mages Guild and the servants of the Seven are natural allies, co-existing with shared knowledge of their need for each other. Unfortunately, the two organisations love and trust each other as much as two introspective and secretive orders can, the battle for the right to claim to be the most eccentric and mysterious power in the kingdom producing the silent distrust between them that is still very much alive today.

“Your sacrifice is well made,” she intones, peering at him from behind the curtain of black hair that both frames and yet obscures her face. “You put aside your power in order to build something strong and sturdy like this Sept,” she smiles knowingly.

“How did you…?”

“I simply listened, young Mage.”

Kurt bristles at the repeated title, and tries his hardest to read her mind with a telepathy charm but finds himself repelled as easily as if she is merely swatting away a fly. The Septa smiles wider, and there is a smarmy quality to it that Kurt doesn’t care for. “You’re a strange one, Kurt, son of Burt,” she says after a good minute of Kurt ignoring her. “You chose to sacrifice yourself, without consideration of the other….pieces.”

An image is suddenly projected into his mind, a knight and a castle made of swirling grey smoke. “A future King must do his duty by those he loves most,” Kurt says stubbornly. He may not even like Sebastian yet, but for all intents and purposes the two men are now his family.

“Your father gives sound advice, young prince, it will never lead you astray,” she turns from his and all but drifts away, her lamb fleece slippers making no sound on the floor.

Kurt wastes no more time in front of the statues of the seven, preferring to go back to the side-chamber and the waiting Warblers, knowing that Blaine must be waiting in a room just like this one. The Septon updates them as guests file in, giving him encouraging looks as the time sidles on. Finally, it is time to leave the sanctuary of the waiting room and enter the main Sept, to the sound of a hymn that had been a favourite of his mother’s. Blaine and the Warblers wait for him at the centre of the room, and his father smiles as he goes down the aisle to the join the others. The guests smile at him but he raises his head and holds his back is straight, to show them that he was born to this and he will not let them down.

The music is momentarily eclipsed by a roar from outside, signalling Sebastian’s arrival. The large double doors are pulled open by attendants in gold and Restfeld green, revealing Sebastian in a resplendent turquoise clock edged in silver, followed by what must be his family. Sebastian looks every inch the son of a wealthy lord. Kurt takes in his upright posture, the schooled look of calm on his face, his confident gait as he walks down the aisle. The pinch-faced man behind him looks at the array of people even though his son does not, a look of forced sufferance on his face.

The Estarian party arrive at the altar. Kurt smiles at Sebastian but receives only a tight smile in response, Blaine doesn’t receive anything. It’s then that Blaine’s head turns, rabbit quick, to a man that has just been seated right at the back on the aisle. Blaine flashes the stranger the same delighted grin he’d given Kurt when he’d shown him the black palfrey for the first time. Kurt squints at the man, he looks tired and though the cloak he is wearing was probably once splendid it bears marks of obvious wear.

The Septon clears his throat and starts the part of the ceremony called the address. At last, he calls the Warblers to form a line, calling on Kurt to renounce them and his claims over them now he is to be married. Each of them file past in their white ceremonial robes just like Blaine’s, and he kisses each of them on the head as they file past. He manages not to cry, thank the Gods, despite seeing tears in more than one of his Warblers’ eyes, but he is given no time to feel nostalgic as the Septon segues into he and Blaine’s Bonding service.

Kurt produces the thicker band he’d bought while Blaine was at his lessons the other morning, and it secures with a satisfying click around Blaine’s neck as Kurt says his vows. Blaine looks at him with such trust that he feels the weight of it, he forgets there is anyone but Blaine, even as he helps Blaine up to applause from the guests. Blaine goes to sit down, choosing a seat next to a heavily pregnant woman who must be Lady Smythe, showing her his collar and receiving her praise with visible joy. But now he is face to face with Sebastian, whose blank expression shows nothing, even as they repeat their vows, to be each other’s’ lieutenants in times of trouble, for Kurt to use his gifts in his husband’s aid and for Sebastian to use his iron fist sparingly, to be a general among men.

“Do you so vow?” intones Septon Remalgus, picking up a thick green ribbon so long its end trails on the floor.

“I do so vow,” Kurt repeats as the Septon presses one end of the ribbon into Kurt’s palm.

The Septon repeats the question.

“I do so vow,” Sebastian promises, the statement coming out soft, the first bit of emotion Kurt has seen. The Septon sings the benediction of the Gods, the assembled guests joining him until he and Sebastian’s hands are tightly bound, their hands clasped under the wrapping.

“Let it be known,” Remalgus booms in a voice that should not belong to an elderly man, “that these men, in the eyes of the Gods, were bound together this day and for all days.”

Kurt is the first to lean down and kiss their clasped hands, followed by his husband, his husband, before the bindings are removed. He marvels at how it only took a few moments to change his life so irreparably, shifting it beyond recognition, with just a piece of ribbon and a few words.

Kurt’s nerves spike once again, this has been the part he was most nervous about; just as he and Blaine had temporarily bonded so now were he and Sebastian. A more permanent bonding ceremony would follow of course, but not for a while, it was accepted that a Dominant would need time to adjust to being submissive even to one person. As this was the only instance in which a Dominant would be called upon to be submissive, a cult of fascination surrounded the process with the Prince or Princess being measured by the time it took to ‘tame’ their second submissive, a practice which Kurt despised despite his competitive nature.

“Do you, Kurt, and you, Sebastian, acknowledge your solemn intention and consent to enter into a lifelong bond?” starts the Septon. Kurt replies at once, but Sebastian’s ‘I do’ is followed by a long exhale, as if he is having to psyche himself up. Sebastian kneels, having to pull at his trouser legs to let him do so. Instead of fixing his gaze on the floor, he levels it at Kurt, who takes the temporary leather band and secures it as gently as he can, careful not to cause Sebastian any more embarrassment than he must already be feeling, made to kneel in front of all these people. Sebastian stands again, hand fluttering at his side as if he wants to touch the collar but dares not.

“Let us start the gift giving!” The Septon announces, and he gathers Sebastian and Blaine in front of Kurt so they can receive their gifts as a sign Kurt can provide for them. A page brings the fine lute that Kurt had seen Blaine looking at in the market that first day, and Kurt takes it from the cushion and gives it to him. Blaine accepts the gift with an awed sigh and Kurt can’t help but kiss him, close-mouthed and chaste but incredibly telling to anyone watching. Kurt takes the sword next, encased in a long case painted with ships. He maintains steady eye contact as he hands it over, despite the fact he is very anxious to see if his husband will like it. The sword is light but deadly, an old Restfeldian design with a circular pommel bearing the picture of a ship battling a storm, which Blaine had assured him Sebastian would love. Sebastian takes the box, unclipping the two latches along its length without hesitation, only stopping when he sees what’s inside. As if totally forgetting where he is, Sebastian runs his fingers down the grip and the inlaid gold there, looking completely absorbed by the object in front of him. Kurt realises it would look unseemly if he didn’t kiss Sebastian after he had kissed Blaine, so he leans in, beating away his nerves. The kiss is much softer than Kurt expects, remaining closed-mouthed and brief but undeniably intimate.

Remalgus’ voice booms once more. “The ceremony is ended.”

The three men move for the door hand in hand, Blaine holding Kurt’s left hand and Sebastian his right, as they emerge through the doors as the Crown Prince, Prince Consort and Prince of Restfeld. The crowd is deafening and Kurt forces himself to smile as if this were an ordinary royal engagement and not his wedding day.

“And to celebrate this special occasion,” Red says, once they are all seated in the Great Hall, “the Warblers have prepared a special set of songs to entertain us all, so if we may have your attention.” Kurt isn’t surprised his father has chosen Red for this task, he is feared enough to be taken seriously and doesn’t have Green’s propensity to crack jokes. A wedding has to run to a precise schedule after all, and Red was nothing if not precise, albeit also humourless.

The Warblers make their way onto the makeshift stage in perfect view of the guests. The singing had been something that happened naturally, the Warblers had been selected on the premise that they shared similar interests with the Prince, so their music lessons had led to many impromptu (and not always welcome) performances. Kurt liked performing, even more so when he was younger, so having willing conspirators who, like it or not, had no choice but to go along with his sometimes outrageous song choices and choreography had only encouraged a teenager with a propensity for bossiness like Kurt.

Wes clears his throat. “Ladies and Gentleman, we have the pleasure of introducing a special guest to our ranks,” he announces as Blaine makes his way onto the platform with confident strides that command the eyes of the room, looking extremely at ease. He’s holding his lute, and the surrounding Warblers gather into neat rows behind him, leaving Blaine front and centre.

Kurt recognises the tune from the first chord, the ballad of the history of the six kingdoms sung in harmony when it is usually sung by a solo lute player. There is something staggeringly beautiful about the arrangement, each verse telling the story of a particular monarch or period and sung by a lone voice which swells into the chorus sung by the group at large, a drawing together of themes and lessons learned from a thousand years of history.

Each of the Warblers take a verse in turn, song progressing closer and closer to the present day, the guests enthralled, despite probably hearing the ballad a hundred times before. The last verse is Blaine’s and his voice is clear and strong. Kurt feels a stab of guilt on behalf of his friends while thinking the choice of Blaine was for the best. The applause at the close of the set is well deserved, the singers going back to their families to claps on the back and smiles well done, Blaine included, settling back in the chair he shares with Kurt to his Dom’s praise.

The feast then starts in earnest, servants bring in platter after platter of foods both Resfeldian and foreign in the honour of his husbands, and soon the tables are laden with dishes. The last servant approaches the dais where he and Sebastian’s family are sitting, presenting the oversized wedding cup he and Sebastian have to share.

Kurt stands up, his chair making an audible scraping noise along the floor. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he says clearly, “On behalf of the Prince Consort and I, and of our submissive, I would like to thank you for your company on this, the occasion of our marriage, and also for your most generous gifts.” He doesn’t dare look down at Sebastian’s face, unsure of what his new husband would think of him speaking on behalf of them both.

Kurt brings his hands together, concentrating hard before spreading them apart, palms down. Sparks dance overhead, then converge to form a massive image of a seascape in colours of blue and green, before all of a sudden turning red and orange in imitation of a camp-fire. With only the slightest movement of his hands a spark comes to rest high over each guest, before transforming into pyramid shaped parcels and streams of paper ribbons, which drop over his rapt audience. The sounds of claps and gasps echoes everywhere, Kurt’s father sighs exasperatedly at his son’s showmanship, why his son couldn’t just give his guests their gifts he doesn’t know.

Blaine was secretly quite glad to see Sebastian’s reaction to the whole affair, enjoying the novelty of being more used to Kurt’s magic than his master, although Blaine doubted he’d want to stop asking questions about it soon. The guests pulled and tugged the ribbon that kept the pyramids together, revealing the finest presents tailored to each individual guest. What they didn’t know is that Kurt had been forced to put a low lying telepathy charm on a few of the parcels, which transformed the gift into something the guest wanted upon the first touch of the wrapping. That was the trouble with weddings where you didn’t know the guests after all.

The food was piled high on plates shortly after, Blaine reaching for a dish that looked like it contained dark green porridge and faintly resembled a very weedy pond. The sub takes the dish and dives in without hesitation, spooning mouthful after mouthful of the liquid into his mouth before he realises he is being watched.

“It’s mest,” he says, indicating the bowl, “It’s a Western Alarian delicacy!” Blaine offers the bowl to Kurt who refuses as politely as possible and piles potatoes on his own plate. The drinks situation is, at best, awkward, Sebastian has filled the goblet with red wine while Kurt much prefers white, and in accordance with the custom it would be unseemly to drink from another vessel. They keep going for the cup at the same time, their eyes meeting, though not with the furtive, appraising looks the cup is supposed to elicit.

Kurt turns instead to looking up and down the dais; his father seated next to Blaine on his left and Sebastian’s mother next to him. Sebastian’s father is on Sebastian’s other side but they aren’t talking much, instead his husband is fussing over his sister, a willowy sixteen year old with hair that is threatening to come loose from her braids. He’s only catching snippets of conversation, Blaine’s impassioned tones being the easiest to latch on to.

“And next month we’re going to start geography,” he is telling Lady Smythe excitedly.

The woman laughs fondly in reply. “It’s a wonder you have energy for riding if you’ve been so busy.”

“I like to be busy, mama,” Blaine says in response.

It strikes Kurt that he hasn’t really heard Blaine talk to anyone he regards as his equal, he knows he has developed a fast friendship with Wes and David but this is entirely different. Blaine talks to Lady Smythe, he holds his own without the forethought or restraint that makes him a good sub, but to Kurt it only confirms that Blaine needs to be able to socialise with other submissives away from him and Sebastian.

“Blaine seems smitten with your capitol, Your Highness.” Lady Smythe starts.

“I’m glad,” Kurt smiles. “It’s been a pleasure to show Blaine the gardens, though I seemed to have facilitated a decrease in carrots from the vegetable patch and the spoiling of a certain black stallion,” Kurt jokes, feeling at ease with the woman despite the fact she is Sebastian’s mother.

“So I’ve heard,”

Kurt takes Blaine’s hand where it rests on the table, “If you would like to see the gardens I’d be honoured to show you them myself, if time allows, My Lady.”

“Call me Isabella, Kurt” she says informally, “and I’ll hold you to your offer, I have heard you have flowers that change colour of their own accord,”

Blaine looks questioningly at Kurt. “May I be excused?”

“Are you finished?” Kurt narrows his eyes and looks at Blaine’s empty plate. Blaine replies that he is and speeds across the room to the raggedy man he’d seen earlier in the sept, all but throwing himself into the man’s arms, and being hugged back just as hard. Kurt watches them talk animatedly, Blaine coming to lead the man over to the dais.

“Kurt, Sebastian, this is my brother, Cooper Anderson,”

Cooper bows deeply and Kurt says the formal words of welcome, looking at his father who seems just as lost as he is. They have not received an Alarian visitor for several decades, and certainly not one who is part of the King’s court there.

“You must come and sit up here, Lord Anderson,” Burt says, summoning a chair beside Lady Smythe and gesturing for Cooper to sit. Sebastian looks mildly stunned, but Kurt doesn’t know if this is because he was unaware of Cooper’s existence or simply surprised to see him at the wedding, but his acknowledgement of the man is half garbled. Cooper takes his seat and the conversation carries on, everyone seemingly at ease with the exception of Blaine, who seems at odds with his brother and Lady Smythe being in the same room. He does not call her mama for the rest of the feast.

The announcer directs them into the gardens, where the guests relax under the trellis and the pretty cascade of flowers, enjoying the weather with their wine goblets in their hands. Kurt complains of his duty to mingle but secretly loves it, making a beeline for a gaggle of girls admiring a lilac plant whose petals form a butterfly shape.

“Kurt! Finally come to talk to the little people?” jokes Mercedes, accepting a hug.

Kurt accepts the girls’ congratulations and the girls don’t question the look on his face, thank the gods, they know the woes of arranged bonding as well as he does and it only brings them closer together. That is, until Rachel Berry joins the conversation with all the tact of a packhorse, drawing an orange, gauzy shawl around herself, no doubt to highlight the jewels in her dress.

“Kurt! Glad to see you’re not ignoring us any more. Trying to escape your new husband no doubt, I thought he must be sucking lemons from the look he gave me earlier.”

“You were eating all of the watermelon slices though, and he was the one in front of the plate,” Mercedes reasons, throwing Kurt a look that clearly says ‘look what I’ve had to put up with’.

“I couldn’t have eaten the sausage pastries, I’m on a diet! What did you expect me to eat?”Rachel protests and Mercedes rolls her eyes.

Santana cuts across them, blunt as ever and dressed in her uniform of general of one of the southern armies, customised with a coloured sash at her belt. “How did you get so lucky with your sub, Princekins, he’s hot AND he can sing,” she casts a long look at Blaine who is talking to Nick and his father.

“He is handsome,” Rachel agrees with an air that clearly conveys she has seen better.

Kurt only looks at Blaine and smiles, trying not to appear smug, but Santana’s expression shows he doesn’t succeed, and she seems disapproving.

“The dancing is about to start,” he changes the subject, “I’m surprised you aren’t all finding people to dance with!”

Mercedes looks at Kurt knowingly, “There’s a distinct lack of single straight men.” Kurt looks around and finds it’s mostly true.

“What about Hunter Clarington?”

The three girls and Kurt all look over to where Hunter is talking with Sebastian.

“He’s…fair,” Mercedes replies, teasing.

Santana looks at a blonde from across the room. “The lack of single men doesn’t worry me.”

The music starts up shortly thereafter and Rachel abandons Kurt and the conversation without a second glance, Santana makes a beeline for the blonde, and Hunter comes over to ask Mercedes to dance, which leaves Kurt alone on the dance floor.

Kurt looks around and sees a man - no, not a man - sitting on a low marble bench looking outward toward the topiary.

“What a beautiful garden you have,” the not-man says, without turning round to look at Kurt.

“I see the plants have taken a liking to you,” Kurt replies informally, watching asthe vines of purple flowers outstretch their tendrils towards the guest, surrounding him.

“They are very friendly,” the guest turns round, and Kurt is taken aback by the vivid slate grey of the man’s eyes (familiar as they are to him). He pats the bench beside him, indicating for Kurt to sit down. Kurt watches as a vine wraps itself around his uncle’s ankles.

His uncle is very different from the memories Kurt has of the previous times they had met, while Kurt’s mother had been around. His elven features seem harsher, emphasising his difference rather than his similarity, without Kurt’s mother’s face for comparison. He remembers sitting in front of his mother’s bureau and watching her apply her make-up, adding blush to her pale pale skin to highlight her high cheekbones. She’d never needed the make-up though, she’d just liked the ceremony and routine of it all.

“Look mama, an elf!” says a small voice from somewhere behind them, and Kurt turns to see Lady Smythe, clutching the hand of a little girl of about six.

“Hush Elinor,” Lady Smythe chides,

“Don’t be stupid, child,” Lord Smythe snaps at his daughter, on the heels of her mother’s rebuke. “No-one has seen an elf for hundreds of years.”

“It’s all right,” his uncle says softly, looking at Lord and Lady Smythe. “I am a sort of elf,” he says to Ella, “ but it is true what your father says. Elves, in the sense you mean, have not existed for a long time. My kind are the product of long-ago union between men and elves”.

“But you’re still an elf” says Elinor happily, swinging on her mother’s hand.

His uncle smiles, “Exactly.”

“You’re a long way from Polaros,” Lord Smythe grumbles.

The descendants of the wood elves, that had once inhabited all of modern day Alaria and Southern Restfeld, were pushed into the Western corner of the kingdom before those countries even came into existence, and have barely ventured from it in hundreds of years, despite being long-time allies of the Restfeldian monarchy.

“Indeed,” Kurt’s uncle says. If Lord Smythe thinks he has seen haughty he has never met an elf before. “Ah, Kurt, why don’t you show me the garden, I’ve never seen such an array of magical plants.”

Kurt snorts, knowing his uncle is lying. He has probably seen more magical plants in his lifetime than Kurt will ever see.

“Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the elf winks at little Elinor, “my nephew has promised to show me the topiary.”

Sebastian, who had been lurking near his mother on the edge of the patio, splutters out a ‘nephew?’ while his father glares acid at him.

“This way, uncle,” Kurt says, stressing the last word, before stepping onto the gravel path.

Once they are away from the Smythes , his uncle turns to him conspiratorially. “That was a very good piece of magic you did earlier.”

Kurt beams,“The display with the sparks or the transfiguration?”

His uncle chuckles, “I meant the weather changing.”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” Kurt confides.

“I didn’t think that you would inherit so much elven magic.” The conversation is suddenly very serious, any sense of light-heartedness vanishing. “Changing the weather requires a connection with the elements that would take the average Polarian apprentice many years to forge.”

“Did my mother have elemental magic?” Kurt asks.

“No, your mother was always gifted with plant magic,” his uncle says, but Kurt gets the distinct feeling his uncle is leaving something out.

“And that’s why she came to Restfeld to be apprenticed?”

Kurt’s uncle nods, and they take a turn around the topiary, to round where the orange plants breathe fire and snap at the heels of unwary gardeners.

“She would have been very proud of you, Kurt. It seems so unfair that I can be here for your big day and she could not.” (similar but not word for word)

Kurt doesn’t know what to say; he’s thought about his mother more than ever since Blaine and Sebastian arrived. His uncle grows silent as they make their way back to the trellis, and Kurt knows he isn’t going to get anything more out of him.

“You should go dance,” his uncle says solemnly.

Kurt cocks his head to one side. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m a grumpy old man and I need time to sit on the sidelines, watching you lovely young things and thinking grumpy thoughts.”

Kurt hesitates.

“Go dance with your sub and enjoy your wedding day.”

Nodding slowly, Kurt moves away, turning round after only a few steps. “It was good that you could make it, Uncle Emett.”

His uncle merely smiles in response, going to choose a chair near his father.

Kurt takes his uncle’s advice and goes over to Blaine, who is helping Lady Smythe inside to rest. Taking her other arm, they guide her inside to the coolness of the hall, and are heading toward the grand staircase when Sebastian and another of Sebastian’s sisters rushes up behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks, slightly out of breath from running.

“Nothing is wrong, Seb, I’m just going back to my room to rest. The baby’s been keeping me up kicking half the night, haven’t you, little trouble?” she coos to her bump. “You shouldn’t fuss so much,” she continues, wagging a finger at Sebastian as Kurt and Blaine help her up the first step, “Go back and enjoy yourself, Sebastian, and take Kurt with you.” She turns to Kurt, “Go enjoy yourself dear, Blaine will help me up the rest of the way and Madeline will keep me company.”

Kurt and Sebastian obey, watching them move up the stairs until they have no choice but to go back into the strong sunlight.

“Here are our newlyweds,” someone calls as they walk from the hall to the garden.

“Trying to sneak away already? Leave it until tonight, boys,” a second voice chimes in.

“Are you going to dance with your new husband, your highness?” adds a third, and Kurt would have turned round and dealt with the person who had said it, if it hadn’t been more respectful than the earlier suggestions.

The suggestion is taken up by the crowd, many of whom are already feeling the effects of the wine and cider. Kurt and Sebastian can no longer ignore the calls of their guests, and the two men make their way onto the floor, where the band strike up one of the faster partner dances.

The dance is simple, two parallel lines of couples weaving in and out, changing partners before rejoining their place in the formation, ready to start again. Kurt goes through the steps with none of his usual devotion, making the moves precise rather than showy, his mind wandering elsewhere. If Kurt is distracted he has nothing on Sebastian, who misses out a whole sequence by turning to stare at two men behind him. Kurt notices one of them is Ormonde and his jaw tenses; he could be saying anything to his friend, and whatever he has been saying has not made Sebastian happy at all. Kurt wonders distantly whether he should go over but decides against it, he’s already given Ormonde something to think about after the débâcle with Blaine, and figures Sebastian would only resent Kurt fighting his battles .

The dance finishes and segues into the next without giving either man time to leave the floor, so they go along with it, returning to their original places with no small amount of reticence.

It is perfectly possible to dance with a partner and completely ignore them, Kurt knows this from many years of practice, and as they weave in and out of the other couples, Kurt manages to succeed at doing so; that is, until the dance demands they take a more intimate.

Kurt is unceremoniously shoved against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian’s has one hand on Kurt’s waist and his other clasping Kurt’s firmly, with a distinct lack of finesse. His husband manhandles him around another turn, using his grip on Kurt’s waist to push and pull him around before Kurt can object.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” Kurt hisses under his breath.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you weren’t making it so difficult for me!” Sebastian snaps.

Kurt huffs and changes their position instantaneously, putting his own hand on Sebastian’s hip and flipping their outstretched hands, so Kurt’s is on top, then deftly manoeuvres them around the penultimate corner of the dance.

“What did you do that for?!” It is Sebastian’s turn to be angry, and he fights unsuccessfully to turn his hand over in Kurt’s.

“Because you were pulling. We’re dancing much better now anyway!” Kurt argues, not caring if his guests hear them any more.

After the song ends, Sebastian immediately goes to sit down, leaving Kurt standing alone like an idiot. He sees Ormonde across the room again, the man is laughing at him, face turned to his friend, a man Kurt doesn’t recognise. He goes to sit down, brushing past the courtier as he does so. “I would watch yourself if I were you, you might just find me keeping my word,” he says tersely into the man’s ear.

Sat near the back, where the trellis vines partially obscure him, Kurt can watch his wedding unfold, the drunken nobles getting steadily more rowdy, while he just grows more tired. He hasn’t seen Blaine since he said goodbye to him earlier, but neither has he seen Cooper, so he figures they’re hidden away in some corner catching up.

From his vantage point he can see Lord Smythe going up to Sebastian, sitting next to his son without saying anything. Sebastian doesn’t look up. Kurt watches Lord Smythe’s mouth move, Sebastian’s expression registering a flicker of shock before turning defensive, and then Kurt does something stupid. His magic flares to life beneath his skin, and he can suddenly hear everything Lord Smythe is saying, despite being tucked to the far side of the trellis.

“You are not making this easy for yourself, Sebastian,” his father whispers furiously, turning to see if anyone else is listening before turning back. “It does not do to snub your husband so publicly.”

“What do you suppose I should do, just roll over and do whatever he says like a good submissive? His courtiers are already placing bets on when I’ll capitulate, they’re mocking us, father!”

“Then root those people out!” Lord Smythe grits out, “Gain the Prince’s ear and then have those people expelled from court, but this is something you cannot do if you do not seem to like your husband!”

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

Lord Smythe scoffs.“I don’t know, but your sub has already worked it out. They were all over each other at the feast!”

Sebastian pauses for a moment, like he doesn’t know how to respond, but then his answer comes out sulky. “He’ll spoil Blaine if he continues like that.”

Nothing is said for a long moment.

“Whatever you do, Sebastian,” the older man says levelly, “Don’t give him any reason for complaint, your mother and I are depending on you.”

Sebastian opens his mouth and closes it again. He places his hands on his upper thighs, and moves to get up before sitting back down. “You know what - you told me to sign that betrothal contract, so I did, you told me to come here, so I did, even though you lied to me - what more do you want me to do?!”

“Do not scupper our chances, we need this,” Lord Smythe says, as if this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. Kurt notices Sebastian doesn’t bat an eyelid at this treatment, but chooses to forge on.

“I can’t believe you, you lied to me and yet you still expect to reap the benefits when I’m the one who has to stay here, so I’ll decide if you benefit.”

Kurt doesn’t know how he expects Lord Smythe to react to this defiance, but it certainly isn’t with laughter.

“Sebastian, Sebastian,” he chuckles, “do you really think you’ll be able to cut us out completely?”

“You would,” says Sebastian venomously.

Lord Smythe smiles again, perhaps a bit ruthlessly. “But you wouldn’t, you’re too much like your mother for that.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Sebastian’s father doesn’t respond. “Anyway,” he starts, a minute later, “You want to provide a better life for your sister, don’t you, when I’m gone?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches, and Kurt remembers that Sebastian’s father is speaking about the inheritance that would have been Sebastian’s, if not for this marriage. Now it will go to his sister.

“Of course,” Sebastian says shortly, “Since you’ve gone to such lengths to get it.”

“Lying to you was necessary, Sebastian…”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Sebastian says, with a calmer tone than Kurt would give him credit for. His husband walks right by without noticing him, into the hall and up the steps. Kurt thinks about going after him but thinks better of it; he’ll give Sebastian some time to cool down before checking to see if he’s all right.

He doesn’t have to go after him in the end, because Sebastian is shepherded back outside by Blaine about ten minutes later. The guests dance on, children are taken to bed by nurses and tutors, glasses chink and the evening meal is served, though Kurt has no appetite for it.

At midnight, Kurt decides he can leave without offending anyone, so he claims exhaustion and heads upstairs, Blaine following him without even asking. He hears ribald shouts from behind him, and he turns to see Sebastian a few paces back, rubbing a tired hand over his face. Blaine chats merrily away as they climb the stairs, which Kurt fails to notice until he sees Blaine looking at him expectantly.

“Can I?”

Kurt stifles a yawn. “Sorry, what?”

“Can I show Sebastian our apartments?” Blaine repeats, not looking tired at all.

“Yes of course, run ahead,” he says, in a placatory tone. Blaine grabs Sebastian’s hand and goes on ahead, up the stairs and round the corner, out of sight.

When Kurt gets there, the door to the come-and-go room is flung wide open. “Blaine, what did I tell you about leaving this door open? How is a secret entrance supposed to stay secret if you insist on leaving the door open?”

“Sorry, Sir,” Blaine calls from inside one of the rooms.

“Well? Do you like it?” Blaine is saying, standing to one side of Sebastian’s room as his husband looks round, lifting the lid off a trinket box and looking at himself in the mirror over the bureau.

Sebastian doesn’t say anything, just goes over to the four poster bed and its curtains embroidered with a hunting scene, and touches them with his fingertips, smiling quietly to himself. He turns his smile on Blaine, a smile meant for only Blaine, Kurt can tell.

Kurt moves to the other side of the sitting room to avoid suspicion, then calls to Blaine. “Are you going to get ready for bed?” Blaine replies in the affirmative, and he sees him walk past to go get his nightgown.

Kurt goes to the doorway of Sebastian’s room, standing there nervously as he decides to go ahead with his plan. “Blaine and I are going to sleep in the master bedroom across the hall,” he says, as steadily and firmly as he can, “you can join us, or you can sleep here if you wish. Take it or leave it.”

Sebastian bristles at this, as Kurt expected him to do, but is pleased when his husband doesn’t argue, pleased he doesn’t have to spend the night reasoning with him or convincing him.

Kurt settles beside Blaine, who is already drowsy when Sebastian comes in, dressed in nothing but a small pair of shorts and certainly not the nightgown he’d left especially in the coffer by Sebastian’s bed.

“You’re going to get cold,” Blaine says sleepily, but Sebastian doesn’t respond, sliding in on Blaine’s other side. “Goodnight,” Blaine mumbles, closing his eyes. Kurt wants to kiss his sub on his head as he’s been doing for the last week, but stops himself when he meets Sebastian’s gaze over the top of Blaine’s sleeping form. Kurt turns the lamp off.


	8. Chapter 6A

It was safe to say Sebastian was not a happy camper. He had been looking forward to a rare lie-in, perhaps some lazy sex before breakfast and a day spent leisurely exploring the castle that he’s seen so little of. Instead, he’d been fussed over by Hurricane Blaine, who’d sat him at the breakfast table, shoved two kippers and some toast under his nose (his favourite but that doesn’t matter) while his submissive had been anything but attentive, grabbing a pile of schoolbooks off the side and rushing out of the door.

“You’ve forgotten something!” Kurt calls, throwing a cloak around Blaine’s shoulders, adjusting a glimmering pin and brushing Blaine’s shoulders down. “There,” his husband says, “You better get going, Lord Jacklin will not like it if you are late.”

Blaine rushes out again and they are finally left alone together. Kurt’s breakfast is cold on the table.

 

“I don’t know what he’s so happy about,” Sebastian grumbles, “Never liked geography.”

 

Kurt laughs. “Lord Jacklin is taking Blaine and some of the wedding guests round the Mage’s Guild today, I told him if he did well on his lessons last week that he could make his way there by himself.”

“And did he?” Sebastian asks dispassionately .

 

“He made excellent progress, his reading is definitely getting more confident - I mean, he’s not going to learn to read overnight, and it’s not that I am expecting him to but…” Kurt trails away when he realises Sebastian isn’t listening to him. “I could go get the comments from Lord Jacklin if you’d like to look at them?”

Sebastian’s head turns sharply toward him from where he had been gazing at his plate. “No, I don’t need to look, and to be honest I don’t think you’re doing him any favours by letting him pursue this.”

“Because you don’t want him to learn?” Kurt tries not to raise his voice, but finds anger beginning to take over.

“No,” says Sebastian coolly, “I’m not against him knowing history and geography, or how to read or write, I just worry about what he’s going to do when he’s done learning it, when he’s in the society of other submissives.”

Kurt looks at him, replays what his husband has said in his mind, and finding no new meaning there resolves to find out what the Gods Sebastian is talking about. “What do you mean, what will he do with it?”

“Well, surely we won’t be seeing him during the day, there’ll be a job for him here, and I don’t want any other submissive to make sport of him just because he can read.”

Kurt doesn’t even know how to tackle all of the things that are wrong with that statement, but starts with what he finds is the obvious question. “You really have no idea what you’ve got yourself into have you?”

“What?”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “If you knew anything about the agreement we’ve entered into, you’d know that it is Blaine’s duty to arrange appointments, to liaise with the courtiers; he’s also in charge of all of our documents both incoming and outgoing, the private and the public, so I think it would be quite handy if he could read and write.” The last part comes out far more sarcastically than intended, in a tone he usually only unleashes on courtiers that have really displeased him, and Rachel Berry. “Also, what the Gods did you mean when you said other subs would make fun of him? If this is about the Warblers…” Kurt trails to a halt, running out of steam.

“I just meant,” Sebastian pauses, “That it may become an issue of jealousy.”

“Why would they be jealous of Blaine being able to read and write?” Kurt asks dumbly.

“Because submissives don’t read,” says Sebastian in a way that clearly conveys that he thinks his husband is stupid.

Kurt opens his mouth, astounded. He closes it again. He feels the anger draining from him as he begins to dimly grasp the cause of Sebastian’s confusion, almost inconceivable as the notion is to him. “Do submissives in Estaria not read at all?”

“No, they do jobs that don’t require it, like cooking or manual work, dock jobs, things like that,” Sebastian answers, slightly suspiciously.

“Well, here, submissives tend to do whatever they want to do when they finish school, they are usually in a trade before they are bonded, you see.”

Sebastian’s muttered ‘oh’ speaks of a softness Kurt hasn’t yet seen; he’d expected his husband to fly off the handle, but the cogs are visibly turning in the Estarian’s mind. “Does that mean submissives can join the army?”

“If they wish, does that trouble you?” Kurt asks quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Sebastian says after a moment and Kurt nods understandingly in response.

“If you have any concerns talk to Santana, she’s one of your generals and I’m sure she’ll be able to fill you in,” advises Kurt, “In fact, I think the two of you would get along, she’d give even you a run for your money in the hard truth stakes.”

And with that, any tension in the room dissipates, Sebastian smiles that sure smile, curved upwards at one corner. Kurt pushes down any thought of kissing him on that smug mouth, especially when Sebastian starts speaking.

“I doubt that princess, I am the king of hard truths, just like I can tell you your tunic makes you look like a human chandelier and my eyes can’t take it anymore.”

Kurt looks down at his tunic, a pale blue with silver embroidery in the pattern of intertwining thorns that catches the light when he moves. He refrains from answering when he remembers why he’d started this conversation in the first place. He takes a deep breath. “I must admit I had an ulterior motive in sending Blaine on the tour,” he admits, watching Sebastian’s eyebrow arch.

“I didn’t know you had it in you to be devious, dear,” Sebastian snipes.

Kurt opens his mouth, looks past his husband to the wall behind and lets a breath out. “I actually wanted to go through this contract with you, although I know that it is probably the last thing you want me to do.”

Sebastian interrupts, angry and bitter, “But you’re going to enjoy it anyway, this chance to humiliate me.”

“No, Sebastian, if I wanted to humiliate you I could have done it in front of an audience.” It comes out far bitchier than Kurt intended it to. “Sorry,” he amends, summoning the contract from the downstairs office. It settles itself down, light as feather in front of Sebastian.

Sebastian’s face doesn’t shift, even as the parchment is unrolled.

“A lot of what is in this contract is actually about Blaine,” Kurt says slowly, “We’re a partnership, right? We need to make it clear that we are both his Doms and how that will work day to day.

“I would like us to agree we will talk about any and all punishment beyond a minor infraction.” Kurt slides across his handwritten draft of examples, explaining his ideas as he goes, Sebastian adding things in his neat, precise hand. By the time they are finished an hour later, the contract has begun to take shape. Sebastian has been nothing but affable, cordial, obliging and Kurt carefully notes the lack of enthusiasm, the lack of argument over the rights he is signing away.

 

In fact, Sebastian looks like he could care less. Kurt catches him staring at the side where the goblets and water pitchers are lined up and summons a goblet with an effortless hand movement. Sebastian picks up the goblet gingerly and drinks.

Kurt lets a long breath out but chooses to forge on with the speech he’s had prepared in his head ever since he heard he was getting married. “As the contract details, any complaints about your work or problems with other members of the court would be taken up with me directly. This is the main jurisdiction I have over you, for the time being, and the court at large would expect to see me reprimand you for their grievances.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow.

“But, if you do good work I won’t interfere. I will of course take into account the fact you have yet to get used to the way we do things here, but if you do act in a way that is disruptive to the court or to the smooth running of the kingdom it is within my power to punish you for that.”

“And the contract guidelines for this…working relationship are?” Sebastian queries.

“In paragraph five, as detailed. Feel free to take time to read it think of any questions.”

“These are normal contract rules,” Sebastian says dumbly, reading through the paragraph in question. He flips between two pages, scanning the words closely, eyes narrowed. “Except, the rules stipulating habits and attitudes…”

“Ah, I took those out, I know a lost cause when I see one,” Kurt jokes.

Sebastian smiles dryly. “Glad to know you know when to admit defeat, princess.” He stares down into his water goblet. “I see you haven’t changed clause 4,”

Kurt has to turn the page to find the clause in question.

“How do I know you’re not going to punish me just because it gives you kicks, or for some imagined indiscretion?” asks Sebastian.

“How does Blaine know you won’t?” Kurt replies almost immediately.

Sebastian huffs out a breath. “I’m not happy about clause five particularly either, despite your pretty words about this being a partnership, if you have this jurisdiction,” Sebastian does air quotes around the word,“Over me, then why can’t you just use it to negate everything I say in front of Blaine!”

“We already discussed this,” says Kurt with a false sense of calm, “All decisions will be made jointly, unless you are being punished for something, which would invalidate your right to his claim until all punishment was over.”

“Well good, because we both know that’s never going to happen.” Sebastian huffs.

Kurt smiles tightly. “Glad we could come to an agreement, now what about section two?”

Section two is read and discussed with an air of clinical civility, as far away an experience of marriage as Kurt had allowed himself to dream of. Exhausted, he goes into his study, feeling the need to unwind in his work, a four roll parchment about the number of Mages going into the guild and their progress.

He’s just reached the part about the small class of youths ready to be accepted in the coming year when there is a knock on his door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” says Red in his usual flat tone, “The Lord Cooper wanted to see you urgently and wouldn’t rest until I brought him here directly.” The man jerks his head back to the door where Red has made the man wait.

“Show him in, thank you for bringing him here.”

“As always, my Lord Prince,” Red sweeps out.

Lord Cooper is a confident man. His gait is confident, his posture perfect. In short, he shows all the marks of having had the perfect court education, capable and sure, a perfect addition to a Dom in high office. He bows low, taking the chair he is offered with an easy grace.

 

Kurt can see the family resemblance, the jaw and eyes are similar to the ones he has grown so used to over the last two weeks, the crinkle of the eyes when they smile, though it makes Blaine look sweet where it makes Cooper look amused.

“What can I do for you, Lord Anderson? I hope your apartments are comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you, I appreciate one being made vacant at such short notice,” Lord Cooper says, his perfect manners completely squandered by his forgetting to even seem apologetic about the inconvenience.

Kurt smiles dryly, “You did take us quite by surprise.”

Cooper fails to notice Kurt’s mocking tone and barrels on anyway. “It is unfortunate that I should come on such a joyous occasion with such bad news, but I feel honour bound to deliver it regardless of the timing, as I told your councillors when I consulted with them earlier.”

 

Kurt’s eyebrow raises slightly, but he leans over the desk too as Cooper does, as if preparing to reveal some great secret.

“I’m sure Blaine has told you about the unfortunate circumstances that ripped me so cruelly from my family,” Cooper starts grandly, and Kurt is suddenly relieved his submissive doesn’t have the same penchant for melodrama as his brother, “And the persistence of this harsh practice is one any in the Alarian court find unbearable, ‘not only are young submissives being forcibly removed from their families, but they are then turned against their own kin through the use of propaganda. My Dominant has had no choice but to seek allies in court, those who oppose the tyrannical rule of our King.”

Kurt is dumbstruck, but manages to regain his composure. “You’re telling me your Dominant is planning rebellion against the Alarian King?”

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Cooper confirms.

“And you seek aid from us? Troops, provisions…magic?” Kurt guesses. “As much as I sympathise with your cause I’m afraid that would make our position here impossible.”

“Which is what your councillors told me just this morning after consulting the King,” Cooper continues, as if Kurt hasn’t just rejected his idea outright. “We seek none of those things which you have just mentioned, my Dominant only bade me to forewarn you, and let me travel here so I could witness my little brother’s wedding,”

“Does the King have another agenda to let you travel here? We were told your coming would be an impossibility.”

Cooper turns his leather cuff over on his wrist, looking nervous for the first time since his arrival. “He is scared, truth be told, of the alliance between your kingdom and Estaria. Lord Smythe is not one he would ever want to cross.”

Kurt nods in understanding, but Cooper barrels on anyway.

“Not only do we, the nobles have grievances with the King” says Cooper with a flourish, “But the King is finding it harder than ever to keep Estaria completely self-reliant, there are many in the council who advocate going to foreign powers for trade, including those in the farming regions near your border in the North.”

“We’ve had reports about that,” Kurt realises out loud, “The North-Easterners feel no loyalty to the Alarian throne; we’ve been giving them aid.”

“Because they’re starving!” Cooper almost shouts, and Kurt sees a likeness between Cooper and Blaine he hadn’t seen before. Cooper looks abashed at his outburst, but does not fall over his feet to apologise like Blaine would. Kurt wonders if Blaine would be more like Cooper given a different master.

“So even if this rebellion is successful, who would you plan to have take the Alarian throne, and what does it have to do with Restfeld?”

Cooper looks momentarily confused. “We plan to ask the King’s nephew to take the throne, on the condition….”

Kurt cuts across him. “That he signs some document that limits the Crown’s power? How do you know he’ll sign it?”

“He will, he’s honourable and worthy of the throne.” Cooper sounds assured, but Kurt isn’t convinced.

“I appreciate the warning, Lord Cooper, although I can offer no assistance. I look forward to corresponding with you, as soon as it is safe to do so. Not only for me, of course, but your brother deserves to know that you are safe.”

“I was glad to be able to see him get married, knowing he is under your protection is a great comfort to me, and to our parents,” Cooper says quietly, “Maybe in the future there will be parents who won’t have to see their sons grow up so far away from them. Good day to you, Your Highness.”

Kurt sees Cooper out, sighs heavily and sinks into his desk chair, any desire to look over his documents gone.

Blaine comes back some time later, just as Kurt is leaving for a meeting with his father, his face pink from the walk home from the guild. “I’m going to meet with my father, Blaine, I would take this opportunity to perhaps look over your contract with Sebastian?”

Blaine nods, expression suddenly becoming serious. “He said we would do it this week,” Blaine assures him.

“Good, how about you take your reading to Sebastian as well, show him what you’ve been learning?”

His sub looks up, deliberating for a moment. “I don’t think he’d be interested in the coves and river-ways of the Six Kingdoms…”

Kurt smiles.“You never know until you try, there must be some things even Sebastian Smythe doesn’t know!”

Blaine chuckles, off guard and unrestrained, before hurriedly looking down at his feet. “That was rude I didn’t mean…please don’t tell -”

Interrupting him, Kurt puts his hand out for Blaine to stop. “It’s okay, Blaine.” Kurt walks further to the door, “And I wanted to say that your brother has asked you be excused your lessons tomorrow so that you can spend the day together, and that Sebastian and I have granted his request.”

“Thank you Sir,” Blaine almost whispers.

“You’re welcome, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to thank Sebastian?”

“No Sir, I’ll thank Master directly.”

Kurt eyes Blaine before he rounds the door. “See that you do.”

The meeting goes as well as can be expected. Burt predicts that the Alarian King will assume their involvement immediately, with the confidence of a king that has been on the throne longer than any other previous monarch. If he was anyone else Kurt would call it smugness, but instead he rolls his eyes fondly where his father can obviously see. They thrash out a contingency plan on the information Cooper had supplied them, factoring in every scenario they can think of.

The councillors leave quickly when the meeting is over, the second round of the wedding feast waiting for them in the great hall, but Burt makes no attempt to follow. Kurt starts to move himself, thinking of the dinner that will be brought up to their quarters, a nice relaxing ending to a busy day. In fact, Kurt is nearly out of the door when he hears his father call for him.

“You wanted something?” he asks, regretting to sound so formal, but his mind is still on food.

“Do I need to want something to talk to my own son now?” Burt replies and laughs when Kurt falls over himself to apologise. “I had been meaning to ask….how are Blaine and Sebastian?”

“Its only been two weeks, dad, we’re still….getting used to each other.”

Burt nods, Kurt’s father doesn’t need to say a lot to him these days, his meaning is known instantly, and Kurt can almost see the cogs turning in his father’s head.

“I need more time…to get to know them, I guess, I mean Blaine not so much, but Sebastian… I can’t work him out.”

“I don’t think you need to ‘work him out’ right away son, it might be just as well to watch, watch how they interact, find out what’s missing; they’ll come to rely on you in time.”

Kurt mulls his father’s advice over for a minute. “I don’t feel I have time!” Kurt bursts out exasperatedly, “I feel like everyone is expecting me to be this instant miracle worker, and Sebastian doesn’t have a single submissive bone in his body!”

Burt smiles knowingly. “Don’t let anyone make you rush it and if anyone is, send them to see your dear old dad and I’ll chop their heads off.”

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Kurt accepts a hug and turns once again for the door. “I’ll try, dad.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” says Burt to Kurt’s retreating back.

 

********************

The click of the come-and-go room door closing sends nothing but relief through Kurt, who toes of his shoes and crosses to the bedroom, shucking his clothes despite the early hour and pulling his nightgown haphazardly over his head. Crossing the sitting room he hears murmuring coming from the library and the crackle of logs from the fire. Sebastian is sitting back in one of the large armchairs, an idle hand playing with the hair at Blaine’s nape, while Blaine is kneeling by the chair, back ramrod straight, reading from his book, face screwed up in concentration. Kurt’s stomach flips unpleasantly, something in the pit of his stomach twisting at not only Blaine’s position, perfect posture with his bottom resting on his feet, but at Sebastian, who looks more at ease than Kurt has yet seen him. He doesn’t seem to be applying any force on Blaine’s neck, not holding him there, but the way his hand is carding through the curling locks seems to be a reminder of his presence that’s having what Kurt assumes is the desired effect because there is not a shred of tension in Blaine’s shoulders.

“Kurt!” Blaine says loudly, jostling both Sebastian and Kurt from their thoughts.

Sebastian glares momentarily down at Blaine, who has forgotten his book completely and has turned to gaze up at Sebastian questioningly.

“Oh go on then, we’ll finish for tonight, you may go,” Sebastian relents, but Blaine is already going to stand.

“How was your reading tonight Blaine?”

“Good, Sir, we’ve almost finished chapter four,” Blaine says hesitantly, gazing back again at Sebastian.

Kurt looks from Blaine’s hesitant expression to see Sebastian’s reaction, but none follows, in fact he still looks aggravated at having been interrupted. Kurt is at a loss as to what to say. “I’m sure you read very well Blaine.” Blaine smiles, saying a quiet thank you before retreating in the direction of his room.

Sebastian clears his throat. “You did well today Blaine, your reading was very….competent.”

Blaine, who has stopped in his tracks, looks back at his Dom with clear confusion for the merest second before looking back down at the floor, “Thank you Master.”

“Sebastian, a word please? Perhaps in my office?” Kurt says as Blaine disappears from sight, hoping his expression of ‘this is important’ is enough to get his husband to follow him without arguing.

“What?!” Sebastian argues when they reach the now dark lower floor. “I listened to him read, what more do you want?!”

“It’s not about that,” Kurt hiss-whispers. His office is dark and silent apart from the ticking of the upright clock in one corner. Kurt cradles one little swirling ball of light after another and sends them on their way to the lamps situated about the room. “Cooper Anderson’s Dominant is planning a rebellion against the Alarian King.”

“And this affects us how?”

“Because the Alarian King has been looking for an excuse to invade for over twenty years and when someone we’re related to, even by marriage, starts a rebellion after coming here…it’s just the excuse he needs!”

“Is it really that likely?” Sebastian asks calmly. He takes the seat by the window which is usually Kurt’s but he can’t bring himself to argue.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Kurt runs an errant hand through his hair, “But my father has said that if they should fail we will harbour them, which is just asking for an invasion if you ask me. I tried persuading him not to but he wouldn’t listen, he gets more stubborn every year.”

“And what are they hoping to get out of it?”

“They’re hoping to end this tradition of the King taking over ownership of Subs when they get identified, the King’s closest advisors having been fairly successful in turning them against their families and having loyalty only to the crown.”

Sebastian smiles wryly. “Except Cooper it seems…I don’t see that it’s going to profit them at all, if the King doesn’t decide bonds their parents will and the Gods know that parents can be harder taskmasters.”

“Which is exactly what I told my father. When parents get the control back they’ll be able to make political matches with their strongest allies, alliances mean factions will appear.”

Kurt pauses, studying Sebastian quickly while still considering his question. “Did you really not know about Blaine until you came here?”

“About how he came to Estaria? No…” Sebastian seems reluctant, too ashamed even to continue. “When Blaine arrived, my grandmother said Blaine had been through a lot, and that I wasn’t to ask about it, she used to send me to the orphanage with gifts: sweetmeats, books, clothes for when he outgrew them, I think she wanted me to befriend him. Blaine was…very quiet back then, he wouldn’t really talk to me when I came to visit, at least not for the first year or so.”

“And you never asked later?”

“It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he wanted me to mention to be honest.” Sebastian says curtly. His husband exhales heavily, “This has certainly been a baptism of fire, I suppose there will be some sort of war council to plan for this?”

Kurt smiles, “Eager are we? You know you don’t start your duties until Tuesday.”

“You know me, only got my mind on the work,” says Sebastian with mock enthusiasm.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Who knew you could be so cruel, Kurt? How very un-princely of you,” Sebastian goes to get up, assuming their meeting is over.

That night, when Blaine is splayed over Kurt’s chest, Sebastian plastered to his back, clinging on like a limpet, he remembers how his and Sebastian’s eyes had met over Blaine’s head as they had gotten comfortable, the lingering glance stretching for perhaps a moment too long before he’d snuffed out the light.


End file.
